


The Children of Merlin

by Lecrit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare, Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Auror!Alec, Auror!Isabelle, F/M, Fantastic Racism, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts AU, M/M, Minor Character Death, More like Sebastard Morgenchoke, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Politics, Professor!Magnus, Quidditch, Sebastian Morgenstern?, Sexual Tension, Terrorism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2018-07-14 21:36:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 116,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7191461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lecrit/pseuds/Lecrit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Magnus Bane has everything he could have hoped for: a job at Hogwarts, a chaotic made-up family that he loves more than anything and the freedom of doing what he wants whenever he wants.</p><p>When his friends manage to drag him to a Quidditch game, he doesn’t expect it to change his life. For better or worse.</p><p>They call themselves the Children of Merlin and they are going to make his life a living hell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You care so much you feel as though you will bleed to death with the pain of it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest cupcakes,
> 
> Here I go again, having no control over myself and starting a new story.  
> I combined two of my biggest weaknesses: Malec and Harry Potter. I have no regrets.
> 
> Please, _please_ read the tag before you read this story, I really, really don't want to trigger anything.  
>  If you know me by now, you know I like my fluff... but you also know I like my angst so... brace yourselves.
> 
> Happy (or something close enough) reading!
> 
> Ps: Don't forget to either tag [me](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) or use the #lecrit hashtag if you're live-tweeting <3
> 
>  
> 
> Vietnamese readers, you can find a translated version of this fic [here](https://suachuadongda.wordpress.com/2016/07/11/fanficml-nhung-dua-con-cua-merlin/).  
> Russian readers, you can find a translated version of this fic [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/5515254).

“Remind me again how you managed to drag me to a Quidditch game?” Magnus sighs as he takes a seat next to Ragnor. “I despise Quidditch.”

There is one thing everyone who knows Magnus Bane knows about Magnus Bane: he hates Quidditch. He can rant for hours about his revulsion for the sport. It doesn’t matter how many times his friends tried to make him change his mind. It certainly doesn’t matter that it is the most popular sport in the wizarding world – Magnus likes to go against the tide.

According to him, it’s a brutal sport played by obnoxious, violent people and it’s not even fair.  He doesn’t know much about it but he knows whoever catches the Golden Snitch scores one-hundred and fifty points and how is that fair? It’s a ridiculous rule to match a ridiculous sport.

“That’s just because you still don’t understand the rules,” Ragnor replies lightheartedly, either completely oblivious or completely ignoring Magnus’ annoyance. Magnus would bet his money on the latter.

He rolls his eyes, snatching a Bertie Bott’s jelly bean out of his hands, sighing in relief when it turns out to be lemon-flavored. It might also have to do with the fact that he is absolute rubbish at flying, but he’s not about to admit that.

“And you’re here because you promised Raphael you would come to see one of his games before the seasons ends,” Ragnor adds.

“I was drunk when I said that,” Magnus argues pointlessly. “You should know better than to hold me to what I say when I’m drunk.”

“You’re such a good example for your students,” Catarina chimes in as she comes to sit on his other side, leaning over him to snatch a sweet out of Ragnor’s bag.

He feels a profound satisfaction when her face twists into a disgusted grimace when she obviously gets one of the awful ones.

She’s wearing a white silk dress that contrasts with her dark skin but fits perfectly with her bright blue hair falling on her shoulders in a cascade of curls. Her blue eyes are shinning with a mixture of gentle mockery and fondness and she just looks amazing all together. Magnus wonders inwardly if she cast a spell or if she is just that naturally stunning.

“I’m on holiday,” he retorts sullenly. “My students are nowhere to be seen.”

“I honestly fear the day Elias attends Hogwarts,” Ragnor chuckles, casting a tender look to the excited five-year-old who is standing near the barrier a few feet from them, raised on his tiptoe to try to see the players who have yet to enter the arena. “I don’t know how parents can trust you with their children.”

“Don’t act like I haven’t babysat Elias a million times,” Magnus deadpans, sending him a murderous glare. “I’m his godfather. You chose me so you can only blame yourself if you think I’m so terrible with children.”

Ragnor smirks devilishly. “We only chose you because we knew you would shower him with presents.”

“And I do,” Magnus says with a quick nod, looking at his godson with a growing pride fluttering in his chest. “Your kid is the best-dressed kid in England.”

Elias is one of the few people Magnus truly treasures. He’s five years old but he’s incredibly witty and funny. He has the tactless lack of filter that is only acceptable in children and he never fails to make Magnus laugh every time he takes him shopping. Elias already has definite tastes about what he likes and what he doesn’t and when it comes to clothing and he has no problem with letting Magnus – or anyone – know. Especially when he doesn’t like something.

Truly, Elias is a lovely kid, loving and caring like his mother but dreadfully clever like his father. It was only fair that Magnus, as his godfather and favorite person on Earth after his parents, would give him something too. If that something is a killing sense of style, he could only approve.

Elias is currently wearing a t-shirt that says ‘Love’ in big black letters and jeans that are ripped at the knees that Magnus bought for him a month ago, partly because his godson loved them and partly because he knew it would infuriate Ragnor who hates that people buy clothes that are already damaged.

Elias is pretty much perfect, save his undying love for Quidditch.

Raphael being his friend and having chosen the dreadful career of a professional Quidditch player aside, Elias is the other reason why he agreed to come see a game. He gave him the puppy eyes and Magnus had never been able to resist puppy eyes. He has a soft spot for Elias and of course, the kid knows that and has no trouble exploiting it whenever he sees necessary. He needs to work on that.

He doesn’t realize the fondness that has settled on his face as he watches the little boy bounce up and down to get a look at the arena until he has to snap out of it. There is an obnoxious laughter disturbing the otherwise quiet of the guest room – it’s mostly empty, except for them and one other family of one of the players – and a group of wizards appear, all dressed up in the colors of the London Lions, Raphael’s team.

Not that Magnus would normally know the colors but Elias had talked at lengths about it when Magnus had taken him to Diagon Alley to Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes this afternoon to get him the new model of the Aviatomobile he had been blabbering about for weeks. Puppy eyes had made him cave again. Ragnor had groaned when they had met in front of the pitch and he had seen the toy in his son’s hands. They had been refusing to buy it for him for weeks, because his old model was still in perfect shape, but Magnus was not as strong-willed as his friends. Catarina had just smiled consciously, like she had known from the beginning this would happen when Magnus had offered to take Elias out for the day.

Magnus scans the group rapidly and his eyes stop on a familiar face, long dark hair falling in waves over a tight black dress, circling a beautiful face, all dark eyes and red-painted lips. Isabelle spots him just as he is about to rise to greet her and she beams, waving at him.

“Magnus!” she exclaims happily. “It’s great to see you! I didn’t know you liked Quidditch.”

“I don’t,” Magnus says as he stands up to make his way to her and kiss both of her cheeks. “Actually, I hate it. I am here completely against my will.”

Isabelle laughs, throwing her head back. Her darks eyes shine with mirth when she settles them back on him. “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

Magnus smirks and throws her a wink. He’s not about to deny it. He has a flair for dramatics, it’s part of his undeniable charm.

“What about you?” he asks, waving vaguely towards the arena. “Quidditch fan?”

She nods eagerly. “Yeah, but I’m mostly here because my brother is on the team. We come to all of his games,” she says, gesturing behind her to the rest of her group.

He recognizes Max Lightwood first, who is about to start his seventh year at Hogwarts. Max is a brilliant student, polite and studious. His biggest fault is that he likes to bend the rules – not that Magnus normally minds, but he has to pretend to be a serious man in front of his students. The thing is, Max is clever enough never to get caught and it’s both very impressive and extremely annoying, especially when they all know he is the one behind it.

Max waves at him timidly, throws in a “Hi, Professor,” but doesn’t come closer, instead walking to the opposite side of the box where they apparently have their seats reserved for them. He sits next to a woman and a man that Magnus knows to be his parents.

The Lightwoods are an ancient wizard family and well-known in the wizarding world for their incredible fortune, involvement with various charities and crazy ancestors, something Magnus finds hilarious, especially knowing how inhibited Maryse and Robert Lightwood are. When Magnus started working at Hogwarts three years ago, he might have slipped Max a book as he had come across him in the library, about how Benedict Lightwood had invented a spell to turn himself into a snake two centuries ago, and lived to die by unpredictably turning into a frog at every hour of the day or night.

The Lightwoods also own half of the buildings in Diagon Alley and their fortune goes beyond imagination, but Magnus likes the stories about their crazy ancestors better, especially if he can taunt Maryse with them when she comes to Hogwarts once a year to renew their annual donation. Maryse always replies by pursing her lips at him and he enjoys it more than he lets on. It might have to do with the fact that they once swore allegiance to Valentine Morgenstern, a fanatic who had decided to wipe every Muggle-born wizard on the planet, something their children still pay for if the look he sometimes catches in Max’s eyes is anything to go by.

Magnus doesn’t judge the Lightwood children for their parents’ mistakes. Or at least, not anymore. Not since he had to work with Isabelle a few years back, and discovered her to be an incredible, powerful, all-around extraordinary person.

As an Auror, she is in and of herself an act of rebellion in a family with a century long history of businessmen and women. From what he knows, it must run in the family if her brother is a Quidditch player. Maryse and Robert must be devastated to see their children refusing to follow the path they most certainly traced for them but Magnus only finds deeper admiration for Isabelle in the fact.

He met her three years ago. They were in Hogwarts pretty much at the same time but Magnus was six years older than her and he hadn’t paid much attention to the younger students at the time. He had Catarina and Raphael and during his last two years in Hogwarts he hadn’t done much socializing, too focused on working his ass off to secure himself a place at the New York Institute of Charms Studies.

Isabelle had been investigating a series of murders in East London and she had met a dead end, unable to determine which spell had been used. Magnus was objectively – not that he is one for humility but this is not arrogance, just a simple truth – one of the few experts in Charms in the country, especially in self-created ones, which was the subject of his thesis in New York. So, she had asked for his help and although Magnus had been a bit weary at first because of all the preconceptions he had had about the Lightwoods with their parents’ history with Morgenstern, she had had no trouble finding her way into his heart with her wit, fierceness and enthusiasm when it came to her job. Magnus could relate to that. It might have helped, too, that they had bonded over the fact that they had both been in Ravenclaw in their time at Hogwarts, albeit people always assumed they were in Slytherin because of their ambitious and determined nature.

They had worked wonderfully as a team, spending many hours on deciphering the spell but in the end, it had been incredibly efficient and it had taken Isabelle barely two more weeks to catch the killer and send him to Azkaban for many, many years. From then on, Magnus and Isabelle liked to have a drink together every once in a while and complain about their jobs or just share their disastrous love lives. They were friends, Magnus liked to think, although they didn’t see each other as often as he’d like, both of their jobs being extremely time-consuming.

Isabelle and Max are nothing like their parents. They are open-minded, witty and intelligent and Magnus can’t help but appreciate these qualities in people, even though they can be a nightmare when it comes to Max and the pranks he pulls in school.

(If he is being honest, Max’s shenanigans never fail to make him laugh, but he always hides it for Headmaster Herondale’s sake, although he is fairly certain that he caught his fellow teachers with a small smirk on more than one occasion, so at least he is not the only one.)

Isabelle is talking to him and Magnus has to shake his head to focus his attention back on her. He is about to apologize for his lack of attention but she only smiles at him, that warm, friendly smile that she always sports around him and he doesn’t feel so guilty anymore.

He’s going to apologize anyway when Magnus feels a hand tugging at his skinny jeans and he looks down to see Elias, his big brown eyes staring up at him. “Magnus,” he says, reaching out and making grabby hands for Magnus to carry him. He’s too old for being carried around and Magnus already knows he’s only doing it because he wants something. He also knows that he’s going to say yes. Damn this kid.

He bends down to oblige and Elias immediately hooks his arms around his neck with a wide grin.

“Say hi,” he demands, pointing with his chin at Isabelle who is looking at the scene with a tender spark in her eyes.

“Hi Ma’am,” Elias says obediently with the smooth tone he uses when he tries to conceal his true mischievous nature. Magnus is not fooled and from the amusement he can read in Isabelle’s eyes, she isn’t either.

“This little devil is Elias,” Magnus says with a tender smile because he just can’t help it, “my godson. His parents are over here,” he adds, gesturing over his shoulder. He turns with the movement but Ragnor and Catarina are not paying any attention to them, apparently in deep conversation, heads tilted towards each other. Their hands are brushing together absently and Magnus finds it disgusting that they’re still so in love after so many years together and a kid.

(It’s a lie, he finds it impossibly endearing but he will never admit it, not even under torture.)

“Hello Elias,” Isabelle says, holding out a hand for the kid to shake it. “I’m Isabelle Lightwood but you can call me Izzy, all my friends do. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Elias shakes her hand timidly and Magnus swears he sees a blush growing on his cheeks before he buries his head in Magnus’ neck, his arms tightening their hold around him.

“I think he’s overwhelmed by your splendor,” Magnus taunts, throwing her a wink. Isabelle laughs, loud and clear, and it brings a few gazes to them but she doesn’t seem to mind, ignoring the preying eyes like she knows she’s always attracting them anyway. That’s probably true, Magnus thinks to himself. Isabelle is a sight to behold.

“Magnus,” Elias whines, pulling back from his neck just so his godfather can see him pout.

“Yes?”

“Can you buy me a broomstick next time we go to Diagon Alley?” the little boy asks, all innocence and childlike smile, his eyes wide and pleading.

“No,” Magnus says firmly and for once, he’s persuaded he won’t cave on that. He has seen the flying lessons in Hogwarts and it ends up with an injury too often for him to be reassured at the idea of buying his precious godson one of these demoniac engines. “It’s too dangerous,” he tempers when Elias is about to protest. “It’s a no.”

Elias doesn’t argue anymore and Magnus feels a wave of pride surge through him. He said no. He is very close to lower Elias back on the ground so he can do a victory dance. Elias nods and proceeds to ignore Magnus completely, although he doesn’t ask to be put down, his attention fully focused on the arena again.

Isabelle is looking at the both of them with a gentle smile. “So, what do you say?” she asks and Magnus frowns, genuinely confused. She chuckles, shaking her head fondly. “You didn’t listen to a word I said before, did you?”

Magnus gives her an apologetic, tentative smile, tilting his head to the side. “Sorry?” he says, although it sounds more like a question. Maybe Elias is not the only one who can resort to using puppy eyes. Magnus never claimed he was more mature than his godson.

Isabelle chuckles, shaking her head fondly. “I was asking if you’d like to go get a drink sometime next week,” she says patiently. “It’s been a while and I’m sure you can tell me everything about the latest gossip.”

Magnus winks at her. “You’re well informed. Any time next week would do for me,” he declares before heaving an exaggerated sigh. “That’s my last week of holidays before I go back to Hogwarts.”

Isabelle ignores his dramatic demeanor like she has been exposed to it far too often to notice anymore and nods eagerly. “I’ll call you. By the way, please stop avoiding punishing Max. He thinks he can get away with everything because of you.”

Magnus is about to answer the accusation – which is true, but he’s not about to tell her that – but has to fall back to silence when the crowd filing the arena starts roaring and he jumps in surprise, his eyes widening. Isabelle chuckles at his reaction. Her smile is luminous. It makes her eyes shine with mischief but Magnus thinks it might just be her default expression.

“I’ll talk to you after the game,” she says as the players from Raphael’s rival team – this is all Magnus knows and he thinks that’s pretty good – come flying into the stadium. The crowd howls louder and Magnus doesn’t hear what Isabelle says next so he just shrugs. She grins again and turns around, going back to her family, a light bounce to her steps that has Magnus smiling fondly.

Maryse catches his eyes as she looks over her shoulder to her daughter and she nods quickly in greeting. Magnus nods back, she turns around and that’s the end of it.

He goes to sit down between Ragnor and Catarina and Elias finally lets go of his neck, only to settle on his lap, shuffling so that he is comfortable.

“Magnus!” he exclaims, bouncing up and down excitedly. “Look, it's Raphael!”

And indeed, Magnus follows the direction his godson is pointing at and his eyes fall on his friend, who is flying around the stadium with a scowl on his face, refusing to wave at the crowd. The public seems to take it as determination for the game to come because the cheers get louder as he settles on the left side of the arena but Magnus knows Raphael’s scowling is just his default expression.

There is a blond guy flying not far from him and he’s the opposite of Raphael, all wide smiles and broad waves, saluting the supporters like the Queen on coronation day. Magnus has to admit he is handsome, his stunning eyes shining with pride as he flies to position himself in front of the three hoops, not far from Raphael. He gives off an arrogant vibe, though, and he seems too much of a stereotypical athlete for Magnus to pay him more than a few seconds attention. Instead, he focuses back on Raphael as the whistle blows, announcing the beginning of the game.

He tries to put his mind to concentrating on the game but he finds himself distracted by every little thing, from Elias squirming enthusiastically on his lap to Isabelle and Max’s loud cheering (apparently, the blond one is the brother she mentioned earlier). He loses all pretence at paying attention to the game when the door of the terrace bursts open and a man comes running through it, panting hard like he has run a marathon to get here, his cheeks slightly red with effort.

Magnus prides himself with being a composed person. He is calm and patient, which are two qualities that help a lot in his line of work. You need that in colossal amounts when you’re dealing with teenagers all day long. He has a good control of his body and his emotions, something that is essential when one wants to master the art of Charms like he did. Right then though, he is neither composed nor calm and even less in control.

His mind blanks as he stares at the man, who takes two strides to join Isabelle and the rest of the Lightwood family. It is clear from his dark mop of hair that he is the older brother he’s heard Isabelle mention once or twice before, although he has them completely disheveled when Isabelle is always perfectly immaculate from the tip of her toes to the roots of her hair.

Tall, dark and handsome is one of Magnus’ weaknesses and he is exactly all of that and more.

He is poorly dressed, but Magnus is far more interested in taking his clothes off altogether than finding him new ones to wear.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Tall, Dark and Handsome says as he leans down to peck Isabelle’s cheek, gently ruffling Max’s hair before he takes a seat next to his sister, sharing a quick and incredibly stiff nod with his parents. It’s only because Magnus is entirely focused on him that he can hear the words and he feels a bit like a predator surveying his prey before consuming it. Now that he thinks about it that way, Magnus wouldn’t mind getting a taste of this particular prey.

His voice is rough and deep and it sends a wave of shivers down Magnus’ spine. He can feel his heart speeding up for a second before it settles again on a more bearable rhythm.

“I think I just had a stroke,” Magnus whispers, flailing his hand over his face dramatically, eyes never leaving the stranger. “Cat, take my pulse. I think I’m dying.”

“Drama queen,” Catarina mutters under her breath but she indulges him anyway, pressing two fingers against his wrist. She then takes his hand in both of hers, patting the back of it lightly. “You’ll live.”

Magnus is so glad his best friend is a mediwizard.

Elias shushes them, entirely focused on the game and Magnus thinks he finally found a good reason to appreciate a Quidditch game, especially when the embodiment of Magnus’ every fantasy ever stands from his seat in perfect synchronization with his siblings when the action of the game gets directed lower on the pitch and he bends over the barrier to follow the ball, or the Quaffle, or whatever – Magnus doesn’t know and doesn’t care. What he does care about, though, is the way his jeans fold around the glorious ass of Tall, Dark and Handsome as he bends over, his distasteful t-shirt rising up to expose his lower back which is far more to Magnus’ taste.

Right there and then, Magnus thinks he might just understand why the wizarding world is so fond of Quidditch.

“Yup,” he breathes out. “I’m definitely dead and I went straight to heaven. Or hell,” he adds after reflection, “I haven’t decided yet.”

Catarina chuckles, following his line of sight. “Raphael will be glad to know how you spent the game you promised him you would attend.”

Magnus rolls his eyes but doesn’t tear his eyes off the stranger who sadly took a seat back, hiding his glorious behind from Magnus’ sight. “It’s not my fault if Merlin himself decided to drift my attention away by blessing me with dark hair and a magnificent… butt,“ he says tentatively, gazing down at Elias before he uses the word but the kid is not paying any attention to him, although he is playing absentmindedly with Magnus’ many rings, completely enraptured by the game. “Who is he?” he asks breathlessly, dragging the words out in an exaggerated gasp.

“Alec Lightwood,” Ragnor says absently. He is leaning forward, his elbows tugged on his knees, his eyes following the action displaying in front of him and somehow, he managed to follow the whole conversation anyway. “Alexander,” he corrects himself. “The Lightwood eldest son. He’s an Auror, like his sister. Nice kid. A bit strict but he’s great at his job.”

“How do you know all of that?” Magnus asks bewilderedly before a far more important realisation occurs to him and he leans forward to hit Ragnor on the shoulder. “And more importantly, why did you hide that divine creature from me?”

Ragnor rolls his eyes and huffs out a mocking chuckle. “I worked with him a couple of times,” he simply says. “It was a lot like that time you worked with his sister. He needed help with some potions and their boss asked me to come as a consultant so I used to go all the way down to the Auror Department after work and help out.”

“Oh, I’ll go all the way down for him if he asks me to,” Magnus mutters, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips.

“Not in front of my son,” Ragnor groans although Elias is both too young to understand and too focused on the game to pay any attention to the adults around him.

Catarina laughs at the same time, loud and thundering like her genuine laughter always is and it brings a few gazes to them. It includes the Lightwoods, who turn towards them in a same motion and Magnus immediately catch the eyes of the already legendary Alec Lightwood, throwing him a wink and a flirtatious grin.

His eyes – from the distance, they seem to be a light brown, but Magnus is bewitched enough to notice the green that prickle his gaze – widen in surprise and he blushes deliciously, swiftly darting his eyes away from Magnus, scratching the nape of his neck in a nervous gesture, like he can feel that he is still being watched. Magnus should probably look away before Alec “Sexy Pants” Lightwood thinks he is a creepy stalker but he can’t help himself.

But Alec “Sexy Pants” Lightwood does nothing to help his self-restraint when he tentatively looks over his shoulder at Magnus, cheeks still red and catches his eyes again. There is a genuinely confused spark in his eyes as he scans Magnus up and down, like he is trying to read into his soul through the lines of his body, like he is puzzled as to whom he is and Magnus thinks it is a start.

The brown eyes wander up his arms, his shoulders and their eyes are just meeting again when the first explosion happens.

.

Magnus has been on a war zone before.

It was many years ago but he still remembers the smell of sulfur and blood and the atmosphere of despair and devastation that had seemed to stick with him for days.

It had been in Norway.

A group of fanatics had taken upon themselves to attack the local Ministry of Magic when a law had stated that Durmstrang Institute was now required to welcome Muggle-borns into their walls. Magnus had been there only to help reinforce the defenses of the school with a few protection spells. Catarina had been there to help tend to the wounded.

It had been horrifying for Magnus to realize these ancestral ideas were still vividly present in some people’s minds, enough so that they would willingly spread chaos and death to defend them. They had not been very numerous, so the fight hadn’t lasted very long but it had been long enough to wipe away a few lives in its disastrous path.

The smell had stayed with Magnus for weeks after that, taunting him during the day, haunting him during the night. He had lost sleep and his appetite and for all his intelligence, he hadn’t been able to understand how humanity could relent in such cruelty.

Magnus had been in a war zone before so he could recognize one when he saw one.

After the first explosion, everything happens slowly, like people are too shocked to understand what has just occurred. From the corner of his eye, Magnus sees the Lightwoods rise to their feet and then, Isabelle starts barking orders at people, yelling at them to get out of there.

Magnus shoves Elias in Ragnor’s arms and Ragnor wastes no time disappearing with him, his son protectively tugged against his chest. Once he knows Elias safe, Magnus is able to concentrate a bit more on his surroundings.

And it’s a war zone. The explosion left a gigantic hole in the west side of the arena right in front of them and he can hear screams of pain and despair as the smoke dances above the scene as if to escape the misery.

“I’m going to see if I can help with the wounded,” Catarina yells at him.

Magnus almost tells her that there is no point, that whoever was on that side of the arena is surely dead and that she should go back home where her family is already waiting for her. But he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t try to stop her when she runs in direction of the desperate pleas for help.

She became a mediwizard for a good reason. She is as skilled at healing people as Magnus is at casting a spell and there is no way he could stop her if she knows there is something she can do to help.

When her silhouette disappears in the stairs he finally springs into action, snatching his wand out of his pocket. Isabelle runs to him and grabs his arm. Her eyes are wide, yet focused and sharp, and he gets a glimpse as to why she became an Auror. She shows nothing but confidence and professionalism, her whole body ready to fight.

“We don’t know what happened,” she says in a rush, the words stumbling out of her mouth like she might make sense of everything if she says them fast enough. “Can you send a Patronus to the Ministry of Magic and the Auror Department? I’m sure someone has done it already but we’re better safe than sorry. Alec and I are going to see if we can find who is responsible for this, if someone is.”

Magnus nods quickly and she is about to turn away from him to join her brother, who is talking hastily to his parents on the side, a protective hand closed around Max’s arm, when the second explosion occurs. Magnus just has time to cast a Protection spell around the terrace, waving away the fragments that are flying their way with a quick flick of his wrist.

The floor shakes beneath their feet and he hears someone yell, “Get out of here. Now!” so he does before he ends up in dust. He apparates into the middle of the pitch and everything is chaos around him. Everything from then is a bit of a blur, like his mind decided to switch off to spare him from the atrocities all around him.

.

They call themselves the Children of Merlin.

Magnus feels numb and out of place when he reads the headlines the next morning. It’s like he’s learning the news for the first time, like he wasn’t there to see it, like he didn’t see the bodies pile up when the Aurors finally secured the area and they could start working on separating the dead from the wounded to send them to St Mungo’s Hospital.

Magnus had helped automatically, his movements calculated like he had done it a thousand times before. He hadn’t but he had done it anyway, carrying bodies out of the ruins. He hadn’t seen any other way to help.

They call themselves the Children of Merlin and in the name of their belief, they killed three-hundred-and-fifty-seven people the day before, including children.

Magnus feels sick as he reads the Daily Prophet this morning. He has to swallow a few times to lessen the dreadful ache that seems to have permanently settled in his throat since the night before but it remains, relentlessly twisting his stomach.

They released a statement, speaking of purity of the race, return to the glorious years, extermination of the modern ideas that Magnus has defended many times in front of his students. He is a Muggle-born and yet, he is also a professor at Hogwarts and he is recognized by all like a master of the art of Charms and nevertheless, these people, these Children of Merlin claim he is a lesser wizard than they are because of the blood running through his veins.

They promise more death to come, say they will target the institutions next and Magnus knows it means Hogwarts is going to be in lock-down for the whole year until they catch them and send them all to Azkaban. Magnus thinks Azkaban is too good for these people.

He feels powerless and he hates it, as he reads the lines again and again and again, until his eyes fill with tears that he doesn’t allow himself to shed.

They call themselves the Children of Merlin and as he watches the pictures of the countless victims displayed in the newspaper, the still burning fires flickering behind them like a warning flag, Magnus wishes them all dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for today, my precious cupcakes!
> 
> I wrote this before the events of Orlando and I really hope it didn't trigger anything with anyone upon reading it.  
> I should find some words but I believe other people say it better than I ever could and I think in that case, the fabulous words of the immortal (and very much not straight, just... fyi) Oscar Wilde speak for themselves:  
>  _“Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead.”_  
>  I love you all, no matter what. <3  
> Feel free to come and talk to me if you ever need it. We are not alone.
> 
> Back to this mess I wrote again. Here's the thing: I'm writing this on the side of The Avengers Initiative, so I haven't had the chance to get a head start in the writing like I usually do. This means you won't get weekly updates like you do on The Avengers Initiative but this doesn't mean you won't get regular updates, of course!  
> I wouldn't have started this if I didn't think I'd take it to the end.  
> So just... bear with me and be a patient, pretty please :)
> 
> The biggest thank you to my wonderful [betas](https://pynchie.tumblr.com/) who deal with my dorkiness on a weekly (sometimes daily) basis.
> 
> I'm on tumblr @[onceuponasourwolf](http://onceuponasourwolf.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) and you're always more than welcome to come and yell at me about how evil I am. God (aka JK Rowling) knows I deserve it.
> 
> All the love,  
> L.


	2. We've all got both light and dark inside us. What matters is the part we choose to act on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My precious cupcakes,
> 
> This turned out far more political than I had expected it. Then again, I have no control and you should all know that by now.  
> I promise the next chapter will not be as heavy as this one. This sets out the tone for the rest of the fic, though.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! ❤
> 
> Ps: You know the drill, if you're live-tweeting, either tag [me](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) or use the hashtag #lecrit so I can enjoy it ;)

Alec has never liked St. Mungo’s Hospital. He hates it even more now that he’s the one sitting in the waiting room, the clock lingering as slowly as possible so that he has enough time to let the worry fully take over his thoughts. He can’t pay attention to the march of patients and doctors coming and going in the corridors. He can’t hear anything beside the wild beating of his heart and the heavy breathing of Isabelle sitting next to him.

He can’t even think properly. His every thought is entirely focused on Jace. If Jace doesn’t make it, Alec doesn’t know how he’s going to deal with it. He is his brother in every way but blood and he can’t bear the idea of losing him.

Jace was flying too close from the first explosion and he got blown away by the blast, falling out of his broom. They don’t know anything more than that yet. The healers come and go but none of them stop to give them any information.

Alec knows he can’t blame them. They are overwhelmed with the many wounded from the attacks and he understands that they don’t have the time to reassure every distressed family in the precinct. Still, he wishes they would at least tell them  _ something _ . Anything. He needs to be prepared in case something happens. He needs to know if he’s going to have to push aside his own feelings so that he can console his siblings. He needs to know if his whole world is going to crumble, like so many people in the same corridor he’s sitting in, tirelessly waiting.

There are cries all around him; people that are mourning the loss of a close one, others crying out for help. There is nothing around him but misery and despair and he dreads to find out if he’s going to be one of them soon. He’s sitting down, leaning with his elbows tugged on his knees. His mind is swirling agonizingly and it feels like he might just collapse if he stands up.

Jace can’t do that to him. Alec is the older brother. Logic would want him to be the first one to go. Jace has no right to die before him.

He is pulled out of his gloomy thoughts by someone clearing their throat in front of him. He looks up hopefully, but his wishful expression vanishes quickly. The woman in front of him doesn’t look like a mediwizard. She’s not wearing the hospital’s uniform, just a pair of jeans and a loose yellow t-shirt that seems too big for her. Alec knows she looks familiar but he can’t quite place her. His mind can’t focus on much right now and its priority is certainly not to comprehend why it seems like he should know her name. She has long red hair and wide green eyes and she’s biting her bottom lip nervously.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she says slowly, like she’s afraid Alec or Isabelle will jump at her throat if she’s too harsh. “Y-You’re Jace’s family, right?”

Alec nods wordlessly but doesn’t move any further and doesn’t offer any words for her to hold on to.

Thankfully, Isabelle is more eloquent than he is. “You’re Clary, aren’t you?” she asks. “You were in my year at Hogwarts.”

Clary forces a small smile on her face. “Yeah,” she mutters and her voice is almost muffled by the cries of despair still resonating in the hospital. “Jace and I, we’re kind of dating,” she blurts out hastily, like she’s ripping off a bandage. “We were both in Gryffindor so we’ve known each other for a while, but we had lost contact after school...we saw each other again about a month ago at a charity event for St. Mungo’s, actually. We’ve been seeing each other since then, and I really don’t want to bother you. I know I’m not family or anything but I’ve seen on the news that he was injured during the explosion and I just… I needed to know he was okay.”

Alec doesn’t reply, doesn’t try to soothe her worries or stop her rambling. Her eyes are wide with fear and he thinks it’s probably the worst way that they ever could have met. Jace would have wanted them to meet properly, in a context where he could have looked at Alec and whispered something prideful to him about dating such a pretty girl and “ _ Gryffindor girls are better than Slytherin’s, you can’t argue with that, Alec _ ,” knowing full well that Alec wouldn’t argue. Alec has no care for girls, whether they are Gryffindor or Slytherin. He can almost hear his voice in his head.

“We haven’t had any news yet,” Isabelle tells her. She sounds worried, but there is also anger in her voice. An anger that is not directed to any of them, but to the people who did this, the so-called Children of Merlin, who took it upon themselves to kill hundreds of people in the name of their conservative and outdated beliefs. “I’m Isabelle, and this is my brother, Alec. You can sit with us if you want,” she offers sympathetically, gesturing to the empty seat next to her.

Clary nods, throws them a weak smile and sits down. And they wait.

At some point, Max comes back from where he had been wandering aimlessly in the corridors of the hospital. He spots Clary, which makes him raise an eyebrow, and mumbles a “ _ Hey prof _ ” before dropping in the seat next to Alec, leaning against his brother for comfort. Alec doesn’t speak but he wraps an arm around his shoulders and holds on tight, a comforting gesture for him as much as it is for his little brother.

Their parents arrive soon after. They spent the morning in various meetings that Alec has no care for. He doesn’t know if it was about the terrorist attacks or just regular business meetings. He thinks that, either way, they should have been here in the hospital with them, fretting about their adoptive son. But he knows it’s too much to ask from them, as they’re not the most loving parents. They’ve never been and if there is something they excel at, it’s hiding their true feelings.

Alec can see right through it, though. It’s in the light frown on his father’s forehead and in the barely noticeable twitch of his mother’s upper lip. They’re as worried as the rest of them. They just put much more care in hiding it than their children.

“This is Clary,” Isabelle tells them when their mother raises an eyebrow at the sight of the redhead.

“I know who she is,” Maryse replies coldly. None of them take affront to it. This is Maryse’s usual tone. “You work at Hogwarts, don’t you?”

Clary nods.

“She’s dating Jace apparently,” Max says with a distracted wave of his fingers. His voice sounds small and vulnerable. Alec tightens his hold on his shoulders.

There is surprise over their features as both his parents go to shake Clary’s hand and introduce themselves. Alec wonders if they would have reacted the same if it was a boyfriend of his instead of Jace’s girlfriend. He knows the answer to that and he chooses not dwell on that thought. There is no point in pondering about that now. Or ever, actually.

They all fall into silence when a mediwizard comes walking their way. Alec recognizes her. She was in the terrace in the stadium with them, sitting with the other wizard who had caught his eye with his bright smile and playful eyes. Her dark skin looks almost grey. She has bags under her eyes, and all in all, she looks like she hasn’t slept in days. She shares a quick friendly nod with Clary, but immediately focuses back on the Lightwoods.

“Dr. Loss,” his father calls out as soon as she’s close enough. It’s the most frantic Alec has ever heard him. “Any news?”

“He’ll be okay,” she says with a soft smile. In spite of her visible exhaustion, it makes her look beautiful. She has the beauty of the kind, something even more precious that Alec knows how rare it is. “Give him a week and he’ll be as good as new.”

Alec allows himself to release a relieved breath and he slouches in his seat, his head softly hitting the wall behind him.

“How is Professor Bane?” Max asks. He is clearly relieved as well but a worried edge remains in his tone. Alec knows Professor Bane is Max’s favorite teacher. He’s always talking about him whenever he writes to Alec from Hogwarts.

“I haven’t heard from him since the attack,” Isabelle adds, her voice still wavering.

“He’s alright,” the healer replies, unwinding visibly. “He’s staying with Raphael right now. Raphael was injured too, but it’s nothing serious.”

Alec knows she means Raphael Santiago, one of Jace’s teammates. He hasn’t stopped to see if the rest of the team is alright, too focused on his brother’s situation to really bother, but he’s glad to hear Raphael is fine.

“Will he attend the crisis meeting at the Ministry of Magic this afternoon?” Maryse inquires. She is true to herself, cold and strict.

“Yes. So will my husband,” she says with a quick nod. “I’m sorry, I have other patients to look after. You’re welcome to go see Jace. He’s conscious but he might be a little light-headed because of the potions we gave him to heal his broken bones.”

“Thank you, Dr. Loss.”

She nods at them, her light eyes scanning their little group. They stop on Alec for a second and he gives her a sheepish smile, the best he can muster right now. She doesn’t say anything else, just turns around and walks away from them, a heavy edge to her steps. Still, she stops in front of another family and gives them the same soft smile that makes her eyes shine with kindness.

.

Magnus stares at the logo of the Ministry of Magic hovering over the room, in desperate need for something to focus his attention on other than the people slowly filling the room around him. He hates these meetings. It might have to do with the fact that he doesn’t really like most of these people.

Ragnor is sitting next to him and he looks about as pleased to be here as Magnus. They left Elias with Raphael, and even though Ragnor knows he is safe, he is still fidgeting in his seat. He hadn’t let go of his son since the day before, and he is eager to get back to him as soon as possible. They both know that’s not going to happen. These meetings are already dreadfully long in normal circumstances. With the events of the day before, they’ll probably be here until late at night.

Headmaster Herondale is sitting on his other side and she looks as strict as she always does. Her hair is tugged in a strict bun, her lips pulled into a thin line. Her black eyes are cold and focused as she scans the people arriving in the room. She’s sitting tall in her seat, her back a perfectly straight line, and her face expressionless.

Imogen Herondale is the epitome of stone cold. She has been so for as long as Magnus has known her, even when he was himself a student in Hogwarts. He hated her at the time, hated how strict and frankly stuck-up her ass she was. Now, he has learned to know that she is the way she is for reasons beyond his understanding. She works in a field mainly dominated by men and the tough demeanor she lets on is because she needs it more often than not to be taken seriously. He thinks it’s ridiculous but he can also comprehend why it is necessary.

He has learned to know, in his years working for and with her, that she is more than she lets on. She doesn’t have a kind heart, not like Catarina does, but that doesn’t mean she’s cruel. He has spent many evenings with her in her office at Hogwarts. They mostly talk about work, students, and classes but Magnus appreciates these moments.

She treats him like an equal and she always has. She doesn’t look down on him because of his upbringing. When she had offered Magnus the post of Charms Professor at Hogwarts, three years ago, he had been the one to bring it up.

Voices had started to rise in the wizarding society at the time to protest against the implementation of Muggle-borns in positions of power. Magnus realizes he does have the kind of power these people fantasy about. He’s aware that teaching at Hogwarts gives you a certain influence, especially among the younger wizards. As their professor, he likes to believe he can influence them at least slightly so that their generation is better than his own, and definitely better than the one before his. But it’s not like he’s willingly trying to brainwash them. They have a choice to listen to him or not and he doesn’t try to force his beliefs on people. This is not who he is. Sadly, these voices had struck a chord among officials of the Ministry of Magic and it had almost cost Magnus the opportunity of a lifetime.

He’s glad to be in in the position he’s in today, and it’s thanks to Imogen Herondale. She had fought tooth and nail with the representatives of the Ministry of Magic to secure him this job. They had caved, eventually, and to this day, Magnus doesn’t know how she managed to convince them. And he isn’t entirely sure he wants to know. He’s doing what he loves the most, in one of his favorite places on earth, and he doesn’t need to know how it happened as long as it did.

The only reason why Magnus is here is because she trusts his opinion. The first time she had asked him to come with her to one of these meetings, he had stared blankly at her for a while before eventually saying yes. He hadn’t understood why she, out of everyone else, would need his opinion. She’s a strong-minded woman and she’s driven and fierce when it comes to her beliefs. She doesn’t need Magnus to tell her what to think. When he had told her that, she had laughed. Imogen doesn’t laugh very often. In fact, it’s a very rare thing and when she does, it sounds more mocking than genuinely amused. Nevertheless, she had laughed. He remembers her following words perfectly.

“I don’t need your opinion, Magnus,” she had said, an amused spark dancing in her dark eyes. “I’m just interesting in hearing it. You don’t think like we pure-blood do and in these meetings, it’s sometimes better not to think like a pure-blood if you want these insufferable and haughty wizards to shut their mouths.”

This was the moment Magnus had decided that he actually liked her.

It is a shame, really, that so few people know her true nature, but it’s also a blessing because no one dares contradict her when she holds herself like she is right now.

There is the shrieking noise of a wand being used as a mic and then the voice of the Minister of Magic booms in the room, effectively pulling Magnus out of his thoughts. He straightens in his seat and glances up to look at the woman standing behind the desk that rises above every other seat in the amphitheater.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please take a seat so today’s session can begin,” she demands, voice firm and commanding.

There is some rummaging around the room but it quickly falls silent as they all stare at the Minister of Magic.

Tanya Pond is a beautiful woman and she has a magnetic aura that forces both admiration and wariness. Her long locks of scarlet hair are let loose. It emphasized her eyes, which are bluer than the blue plastering the Ravenclaw emblem. She is a tall, slender woman but she is undoubtedly the most powerful person in this room, and anyone would be a fool not to acknowledge it. It is clear in her whole posture. It is clear in her voice. It is clear in the way her luminous gaze wanders over the small crowd with a calculated force.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice.” When she speaks, her silky voice resonates through the room like an appealing chant. “These are dark times and I’m afraid the worst of it is still before us. We are here to draw up a review of the situation regarding the so-called Children of Merlin attack of yesterday, and to assess our plans of action to ensure the security of the citizenry we have sworn to protect. Let us first observe a minute of silence in honor of the innocent lives that we lost yesterday.”

Magnus doesn’t use that silence to think of the victims like he should. He has done plenty of that this morning. He has memorized too many unknown faces, the faces of wizards he will never run into on the crowded streets of Diagon Alley, the faces of children who will never go to Hogwarts, the faces of those innocent lives that were ripped away so violently.

Instead, he lets his eyes dart to the more or less familiar faces in the room. Right in front of him, on the opposite side of the amphitheater, sits Luke Garroway. Luke is the Head of the Auror Office and has been so for many years. 

In many ways, he reminds Magnus of Catarina. They share the same profound kindness that sometimes leaves him speechless. Luke is Clary’s stepfather. He was also Valentine Morgenstern’s best friend, before he turned his back on him and helped the Auror Office catch him when he realized he wouldn’t be able to by himself. He has spent a long time redeeming himself before he was actually offered the post. He’s been the Head of the Auror Office for so long now that Magnus can’t even remember how long exactly. No one in their right mind would question his efficacy and his fairness. Luke is one of the few people Magnus actually looks forward to seeing when he goes to those meetings.

In the row of seats just below Luke sits one of the people Magnus  _ does not _ look forward to seeing when he goes to those meetings.

Sebastian Morgenstern is the spitting image of his father. He is a tall, lean yet muscular man, a couple of years younger than Magnus.  His platinum blond hair makes his pale skin look even lighter but his dark, black eyes gives it some color.

He could be attractive if he wasn’t an enormous dick.

Magnus does not believe in judging the children for the sins of their parents. The Lightwoods have proven him how wrong that can be. But Sebastian Morgenstern is not as bad as his father was before he got locked away in Azkaban. He is much worse.

He is the head of a political party that has been growing more and more powerful in the last two years, finding echo in the most conservative part of the wizarding population.

The Wizarding Front – clearly, they had really struggled for the name – is full of hateful people who think they are better than anyone else, especially Muggle-born or half-blood wizards. They lecture the citizens on the horrible consequences the integration of people like Magnus would have to their pure-blood culture. There is “ _ filthy Mudblood _ ” written all over their speeches, although they never say the word.

Sebastian is worse than his father because he is far more intelligent.

Where Valentine used to preach hatred and, in the far end of his little cult, even slaughter of the one they call “lesser wizards”, Sebastian chooses his words carefully and cleverly. He never oversteps, never crosses the line between a logically-exposed argument - no matter how wrong it can be - and a hateful speech.

Sebastian’s intelligence and charisma make him dangerous. People listen to him, without  _ really _ listening to him. They hear his words but don’t register the true meaning behind them. They see someone who promises them the truth, but feeds them evidences that are scattered with little lies, making his whole speech seem believable.

Magnus knows better, probably because he’s one of the lesser wizards Sebastian and his spokespersons constantly target. But they are so many people who look at a charismatic man and think that if his words sound genuine and persuasive enough, then he must be telling the truth.

It’s as the leader of a strong rising political party that he is present at this meeting, not as a Morgenstern, but the two can’t be separated when it comes to Sebastian. He is as much a politician as he is a bigoted, vile man.

Magnus has come to this meeting prepared to hear the awful things that will unavoidably be said, but he isn’t sure he’ll be able to tame his wrath if it comes to it, not after what happened the day before. He darts his eyes away before Sebastian can feel him staring. He doesn’t want to see the hatred in his glance if their eyes meet.

Not far from Sebastian, as stoic as ever, Maryse and Robert Lightwood are sitting close to each other, their arms brushing together. Magnus wonders why the Lightwood family traditions wanted them to be businesspeople when they were obviously meant to be soldiers, the two of them. It seems that, unlike their children, they never went against the rules and never really thought for themselves. They did what they were told to do during their childhood and then, after becoming adults, they stood behind Valentine Morgenstern and followed orders again. Magnus doesn’t know why they turned against him but he guesses it wasn’t because they disapproved of his pure-blood supremacy ideology. It must have been something else.

“Thank you,” Tanya says, her voice echoing through the room and his reverie is broken.

Magnus settles straighter in his seat and shares a quick glance with Ragnor before focusing back on the Minister of Magic behind her desk. She looks down at the room and her blue gaze stops on Imogen for a second before moving on.

“The first point on today’s agenda is ensuring the security of our institutions,” she announces. “After yesterday’s attacks, we can’t take these threats lightly. We’ll start with Gringotts.”

The next hour is spent discussing the bank’s protection. Neither Magnus nor Imogen intervene on these matters. This is not their area of expertise and they are only here to talk about Hogwarts and their students’ safety. They then move on to St. Mungo’s Hospital and that conversation lasts two hours when the representatives of the hospital demand the extension of their crisis center. It represents a bigger cost than the Minister of Magic’s counselors are willing to allocate, but eventually Tanya shuts their protest down by accepting the hospital’s request with a firm, undisputable voice. The Ministry of Magic is next. It is already the best protected institution of the wizarding world and Magnus isn’t sure there is much more they can do. Apparently, he is the only one to believe so because this discussion goes on for so long that Magnus loses track of the time.

He tries to pay attention but he tunes out somewhere between “France offered to send us some reinforcements” and “Should we send the Ministry’s ancient book collection somewhere safer?” Luckily, as one of the heads of the Department of Mysteries, Ragnor is engaging in this part of the conversation. He will just sum it up for Magnus at the end of the meeting as he always does, so he doesn’t feel too bad about missing out.

Luke looks tense throughout the whole thing. His office is going to have to supply more Aurors than ever and probably more than they actually have. His lips are pulled into a thin line and a permanent frown has taken residence on his forehead. He looks exhausted.

Magnus get his wand out of his pocket and, with a flicker of his wrist, sends a warm coffee directly in front of Luke. The Auror startles in surprise and looks up, his eyes soon finding Magnus’. Magnus winks at him and gives him a supportive nod. Luke sends back a grateful smile and takes a sip of his coffee, relaxing a little into his seat.

“Now, on to Hogwarts,” the Minister of Magic declares solemnly and Magnus immediately straightens up with a start.

Imogen gives him a sideway glance, but she bears a small smirk, so small it’s barely there and he knows she is aware he wasn’t paying attention.

“Our priority is obviously to ensure our students’ safety,” Imogen asserts. Her voice is as stern as her appearance is stoic and the room falls silent, hanging to her every word. “Especially our Muggle-born students,” she adds. “We cannot allow our students to feel insecure in the one place where they are supposed to feel safer than anywhere else.”

“We can all agree on that,” Tanya says.

Their relationship is something particular and fascinating to watch. They are both strong-willed, powerful women but the amount of respect between them is high enough that they barely ever clash. When they disagree – which is, admittedly, quite often – they might bicker about it but their banter is never discourteous. Magnus suspects that they share a mutual affection for the other, even though they won’t acknowledge it.

“There is new information that we received this morning, though,” the Minister adds and Magnus frowns, leaning forward with a slight frown on his face. “Mr. Garroway, if you could share it with us?”

Luke clears his throat and squares his shoulders. It makes him look impressively tough.

“The so-called Children of Merlin reached out to the Auror Office this morning,” he states, running a finger on the rim of his coffee mug absentmindedly. “They sent a fire message. It’s untraceable and my team didn’t have the time to gather any evidence before it combusted. The message claimed responsibility for yesterday’s attack once more. It also renewed their threats on the institutions, with a special focus on Hogwarts.” He pauses, darts a glance to Imogen and then his eyes stop on Magnus, lingering for a second too long. “Unlike the message we got yesterday, this one was more… precise in terms of intention.”

“Can you be more specific, Mr. Garroway?” Imogen asks, but she manages to make it sound like an order. Magnus clenches his jaw. He has a good idea where this is going and he is already exhausted at the prospect.

“They are targeting Muggle-born, they’ve made that clear,” Luke replies with a stern nod. “But their threat wasn’t aimed at the students… It was aimed at the teachers.”

Magnus freezes, his fingers halting where they were fidgeting with his rings. There are not many Muggle-born teachers in Hogwarts. Actually, there are two of them. Him, and Simon Lewis, who teaches both Care of Magical Creatures and Muggle Studies.

“The Auror Office is ready to provide its best elements to ensure Hogwarts protection,” Luke adds, his eyes quickly flickering on Magnus again. “We are not taking these threats lightly.”

“As you should not.”

Sebastian’s voice is as unpleasant as he is. It is somehow both sharp and dragging, like he is always bored out of his mind and no one is worthy of his interest or the words coming out of his mouth. Magnus wouldn’t mind if he could just shut up all together.

“Maybe it would be wise to take your Muggle-born teachers out of Hogwarts for a while,” he says and Magnus hears the insult behind the word even though he tries to hide it with a husky tone. “We need to think about the children’s safety and I believe it is the safest option.” 

“Of course you do,” Magnus grits out through clenched teeth. He clears his throat. “One of these Muggle-born teachers happens to be me,” he retorts, louder, “and I am quite capable of taking care of myself. Besides, the Ministry of Magic aside, Hogwarts is the best protected place in our wizarding world. I don’t know a place where Simon Lewis, I and most importantly, all of our Muggle-born, half-blood or pure-blood students would be better protected.”

“Are these children really protected if your presence in the school is what puts them in danger?” Sebastian counters with a wicked smirk.

Magnus is about to answer, the sarcasm already forming at the tip of his tongue but Imogen reaches out to put a hand against his forearm and he shuts his mouth, sending a murderous glare at Sebastian, whose smirk tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Mr. Morgenstern,” she utters, tone brisk and unyielding. “Are you foolish enough to believe that these people’s motivation will stop with Mr. Bane and Mr. Lewis’ dismissal after yesterday’s events? Is this slaughter not proof enough that they will not stop unless  _ they are stopped _ ?”

“That’s exactly the reason why I think we should not give them any further motivation,” Sebastian answers and his eyes are full of a revulsion he poorly disguises as he glares at Imogen.

“Mr. Morgenstern does have a point,” Maryse Lightwood says. It is the first time she speaks since they broached the subject of Gringotts and Magnus wishes she had kept her silence longer.

He has to tighten his fists into balls, his nails digging in his palm, to temper his anger.

So much for changing their ways and putting their discriminatory ideals to the side.

“So you suggest we obey them instead?” Imogen inquires, but her tone makes it clearly rhetorical.

Sebastian opens his mouth to speak but she raises a hand to shut him up. Surprisingly, he obliges.

“What if tomorrow, they ask for the removal of Muggle-born students? And then, what will come next? Half-blood teachers and students, most certainly. And then? Pure-bloods who disagree with the Children of Merlin’s outdated values.” She pauses, her dark eyes passing over the room with purpose and Magnus is reminded why he learned to appreciate her as he does. “And then?” she goes on and she drags the words out in a way that is sure to grasp everyone’s attention, although she is addressing Sebastian directly. “Well, Mr. Morgenstern, then you will most likely end up with an empty school.”

“Imogen is right,” Tanya says, her voice forbidding any further argument. “We will not fight back by giving them exactly what they asked for. Hogwarts has been open to everyone for centuries and this will not change because of some fanatics’ cause. Hogwarts will benefit of the assistance of the Auror Office in order to ensure their teachers and students’ safety. Mr. Bane and Mr. Lewis have proven themselves to be more than capable at their jobs and I see no reason why this should change.”

Magnus allows himself to discreetly release the breath he had been holding and Ragnor reaches out to pat his knee under the desk. The comforting gesture is enough to soothe some of his nerves and he finally loosens his fists. The skin of his palms is left white by the tight grasp he held them in.

When the meeting finally comes to an end, hours later, Sebastian throws them a nasty look on his way out. Imogen lets out a huff of breath that is the closest reaction she has to a chuckle and Magnus smirks in spite of himself, gently elbowing her arm.

“I think we aggravated Mr. Morgenstern,” he whispers to her.

“Good,” Imogen replies and there is the ghost of a smile on her stoic features.

.

“I fucking hate that guy,” Raphael blurts out as soon as Magnus and Ragnor are done relating the afternoon’s events.

“Raphael!” Catarina calls out, perking up from where she was drifting off to sleep, head slouched on her husband’s shoulder. “No swearing in this house. Elias –“

“Is sleeping,” Raphael finishes for her, “and he has been sleeping for hours. It’s three in the morning. So, unless your son has enhanced hearing and fakes being asleep like a professional actor, I think I can fucking swear if I fucking want to.”

Magnus reaches out to smack a hand behind Raphael’s head, ignoring his muffled groan of protest. “Don’t act like an asshole, asshole.”

“The both of you better stop swearing right now or I will Rictusempra the shit out of you,” Catarina threatens, narrowing his eyes at them. None of them has the will to anger her more by pointing out that she just cursed herself.

“How was your day?” Magnus asks in an effort of drifting the conversation away from Raphael and his lack of manners.

“Exhausting,” Catarina mumbles and she looks even more than exhausted. She is clearly struggling to stay awake but she refused to go to bed before she had heard their review of the Ministry of Magic’s meeting. “My morning started with an encounter with the Lightwoods, which was as pleasant as it always is.”

“Was Isabelle there?” Magnus immediately inquires. “And Max? And the unfairly hot one? Are they all okay?”

Catarina chuckles, a fond spark flickering in her light eyes. “They are all okay,” she replies. “Their brother Jace was hurt during the game but he’ll be okay as well. Clary was there too. Apparently she’s dating him.”

“What?” Magnus exclaims bewilderedly. “Clary has a boyfriend? And she didn’t tell me? Oh, I am  _ so _ giving her hell whenever I see her.”

“Aren’t you going back to Hogwarts next week?” Ragnor chimes in. “You’ll see her then.”

“No, I’m going back in two days,” Magnus sighs dramatically. “We have to increase the protections around the school and we need to test our defenses. So my holidays got shortened.”

“I can come with you if you want,” Raphael offers, uncharacteristically gentle. “Many of the players are still in the hospital and we won’t have training for a while. I’d rather feel useful than just sit around waiting for the next bad news to come up.”

Magnus has to hold back a smile. For all his pretence at being impassive, Raphael is actually as good-hearted as they come. He just hides it behind snarky comments and heavy sarcasm.

“I’ll check with Imogen but I’m sure it won’t be a problem,” he replies, hiding his grin behind his glass of wine.

He’s just finishing his glass when a loud knock resonates all the way to the living room. They stare at each other quietly for a while but eventually, Ragnor stands up from the couch, his wand firmly held in his hand. Magnus and Raphael follow his lead, ready to fight if the need arises whilst Catarina goes to stand next to the door of Elias’ bedroom.

When he opens the door, Ragnor doesn’t try to hide his surprise.

“Luke?”

“I’m sorry for barging in in the middle of the night,” Luke says. His voice is tired but his whole posture is even more drained, a heavy weight slouching his shoulders. “Is Magnus here?”

Magnus steps forward to come into Luke’s line of sight, brow furrowed in puzzlement and wariness. There are two Aurors standing behind him, two women Magnus has never seen before.

“Luke,” he breathes out, unable to keep the worry out of his voice. “What’s going on?”

“We need to put you to safety,” Luke replies. “Now.”

“Why?” he wonders out loud, his voice shaking in spite of himself.

“Imogen Herondale was murdered an hour ago. The Children of Merlin claimed responsibility.”

Magnus thinks of himself as an eloquent man but right then, he is left speechless and he blinks, his mind blanking completely.

This can’t be happening.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dramatic gasp* whaaattttttt  
> (that's the reaction I was going for and I will settle for nothing less)
> 
> Coming up next: Hogwarts... and two people meeting properly... who are these two people??? It's a mistery. (the suspense is unbearable, I know)
> 
> This was beta'd by the amazing Roja. You can send her love [here](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/), she deserves it.
> 
> Next chapter coming up as soon as possible.
> 
> You can also send me love on tumblr [@onceuponasourwolf](http://onceuponasourwolf.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) because I am a nice person deep down, if you dig deep enough.
> 
> A very special thank you to Ketz and Sam for all the moral support and daily amazingness.   
> If you're not reading Defying Gravity by Ketz yet, you should be.  
> Same goes for In The Sin Bin but I'm pretty sure you're all reading it already.  
> You two are the best. <3
> 
> All the love and nothing less, ❤  
> L.


	3. perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest cupcakes,
> 
> Let's be honest, I'm past the point of pretending this is not a political fic. It is and I'm not even sorry.  
> You'll get some fluff, though, don't worry ;) hahaha
> 
> This chapter is a gift to my incredible, amazing, beautiful, all in all outstanding wife [Ketz](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Ketz), who is so awesome that she passed the bar and is now a lawyer.  
> Congratulations babe, I hope you like my present ❤.  
> Btw, you should all read [Defying Gravity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6439834/chapters/14741407) if you're not already.
> 
> In the mid time, enjoy this chapter.  
> More politics, more pain, a hint of cuteness and... a surprise ;)

Imogen’s funeral is as beautiful as it is heartbreaking.

She was an elegant woman when she was alive, so it makes sense that the grace of her person would somehow transpire in her death. It takes place on the hill that stands above her house and Magnus can’t help but to think that this is where she was killed. Murdered for defending people like him, for refusing to cave to the demands of a dangerous group.

As he stares at the majestic white horses that are dragging her coffin to her final resting place, a swarm of butterflies following the cortege like an inconceivable dash of hope in an ocean of pain, he hopes that she won’t be forgotten in the years to come. He hopes people will remember how brave she was, how she fought for her beliefs with her words and her mind instead of violence and chaos. He hopes Imogen Herondale will be remembered as the fantastic woman that she was, and not as a forgettable victim of a rising barbarism. He hopes none of their victims are forgotten, for this is the only way it won’t happen again, when this is all over. Because he still hopes that this will be over soon.

He stands between Raphael, who is holding his elbow in a firm grip as if he’s afraid Magnus is just going to collapse, and Catarina who isn’t touching him, but her mere presence is enough to bring him a small sense of comfort, along with Ragnor’s and Elias’ in his back. 

Simon and Clary are not far from them but Magnus hasn’t had a chance to talk to them yet. He was asked to talk, to make a speech to pay honor to Imogen’s life, and then he had helped cast the spells that are now illuminating the scenery in the yellow, blue, red and green colors of the Hogwarts blazon. There is a religious silence hovering among the crowd following the horses, only interrupted by the chirp of the animals and the thud of their hoofs against the grass.

His speech had been dull, empty, a lot like he feels right now. He had talked about the strong woman she was, about how inspiring she had been for young wizards like him who were stumbling into a world they didn’t know, surrounded by people who knew everything about it better than them and weren’t always eager to help them figure it out. He supposes his speech was more political than a typical funeral oration should be, but there is nothing ordinary about the way Imogen died. She was killed for political reasons and he made sure to let it transpire in his hesitant words and praises. He made sure no one could ever mistake her for anything but the victim that she is. He talked about a world that doesn’t exist in their reality, about the hope he shared with her that they could build a better one, one where people like him and people like her could live together without it being frowned upon, at the very best.

He talked about her upbringing because he remembered, as he was writing his speech the night before, that she told him once about growing up in a pure-blood family, decades before Magnus was even born, with the constant reminder that they were meant to be superior, that their blood made them better. Imogen had the strength to stand up to her parents at a young age, to make them see the error of their ways. She had been different. And now, she is gone.

When the funeral is over, the crowd slowly starts to dissipate. There were thousands of people, so many that the hill had been protected by about thirty Aurors, which only served as a sinister reminder of the dark times ahead of them. There must be something seriously wrong with their world when they are not even safe while burying a loved one.

Magnus stays behind, his friends on his side, and he is looking down at the ground where the coffin disappeared with a finality that forces him to realize that there is no going back from now on, not for Imogen, not for him, not for any of them.

He feels a hand tug at his own and when he looks down, he finds himself staring directly into the worried grey eyes of Elias, whose dark skin is glimmering with the aftermaths of the butterflies spreading enchanted dust over the crowd.

“Magnus,” he says softly, tugging at his hand again even though Magnus is looking at him now, “are you sad because of the bad people?”

He is. And it sounds awfully innocent coming out of Elias’ mouth, but maybe it is just that simple.

He stumbled into a world he had no idea existed when he was eleven, a world with magic and mystical creatures and fairies and goblins and elves and he had thought, foolishly, that there could be nothing bad about such a world.

Magnus is not above admitting when he is wrong, but just this once, he wishes he had been right. The Muggles look for magical solutions to their problems, hope for a bit of magic in their lives. Magnus had grown up being one of them. Now he knows better. He knows magic doesn’t solve anything. He knows there are bad, terrible, awful people in every society, in every world, in every reality.

Elias will have to learn that sooner or later and he is already too smart for his own good, so Magnus sees no point in lying to him.

“Yes,” he breathes out. “I’m sad because of the bad people, my little pumpkin.”

Elias raises both his arms, demanding with a pleading gaze to be carried and Magnus can never say no to him, but he can even less right now, when all he wants is the comfort of a familiar touch. As soon as he is in his arms, Elias buries his head in Magnus’ neck, wrapping his little arms around him and Magnus automatically does the same, choking out on a sob. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this.

“Mom says it’s okay to be sad sometimes,” Elias mumbles from where he is tugged against Magnus’ neck. “Sometimes I get sad too, and she gives me a hug, and then we talk about why I’m sad, and then we go for a walk. Do you want to talk about why you’re sad?”

Magnus smiles against his godson’s hair, breathes in his reassuringly familiar scent of strawberry and presses a kiss at the top of his head.

“I think a hug from my favorite godson is enough,” Magnus replies in a whisper.

Elias nods and clings to Magnus even tighter, holding on to him like he wants to physically push the comfort inside of him. It works. It works so well that Magnus’ eyes fill with tears he hasn’t let himself shed until now. They trickle down his cheeks slowly, and it doesn’t last long, but for the time he actually allows himself to cry, he feels better. Like a weight has been taken off his chest and he can finally breathe again.

Then, there is the sound of someone clearing their throat behind him and the charm is broken. 

He quickly wipes his cheeks and turns around, Elias still gripping his neck with all the strength a five-year-old can muster and he blinks at the sight of Tanya Pond standing before him. She smiles at him, a small, hesitant but still magnificent smile. He wonders inwardly if she knows how breathtakingly beautiful she is. It is a cold beauty, like her face has been carved into marble centuries ago and it never really aged. There are small dimples, just below her high cheekbones when she smiles and he finds himself staring for a second too long before he actually looks up into her cerulean eyes.

“Mr. Bane,” she says and there is the same authority in her voice than he has seen her use countless times when she addresses a crowd in the meetings he attends in the Ministry of Magic. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Magnus nods and turns his back on her, pressing a kiss against Elias’ hair.

“Pumpkin, can you go back to your parents or Raphael for me, please?” he murmurs. “I need to speak with the Minister for a bit.”

“Are you still sad?” Elias asks, pulling back a little to glance up at him.

And even though Magnus doesn’t want to lie to him, he shakes his head. “No,” he mutters for the boy’s ears only. “How could I be sad when I have the best godson in the world?”

Elias beams at him, drops a wet kiss on Magnus’ cheek and finally accepts to be put down. He immediately runs towards Raphael, who is talking to Luke on the side. Luke is taking them both to Hogwarts after the ceremony and Magnus is both eager to see this place he has come to think of as home and bitter to realize it won’t be the same without Imogen as Headmaster.

He takes a deep, but discreet breath before he turns around to face the Minister, forcing a small smile to his face.

“Madam Minister,” he says politely. “How can I help you?”

“You know you can call me Tanya, Magnus,” she asserts on a tone that suggests that she’s said it before. She has.

“I know,” he replies, “but I also never know when someone might be listening in and you’re the one who doesn’t want people knowing we know each other… closely.”

“You make it sound like we’re having an affair,” Tanya chuckles fondly.

Magnus smirks. “Only in my wildest dreams, my dear,” he mutters with an elegant flourish of his fingers. “I’ve always dreamed of being the character of a 18 th century novel.”

She throws him an unimpressed glare, but he can see the smile dancing in her eyes. “You could probably pull off the breeches but I’m not sure about the stockings,” she retorts playfully.

“Please,” he scoffs dramatically. “I can pull off any style with a body like mine.”

This time, she truly laughs and the sound is so rare that Magnus finds himself laughing too and he feels lighter now.

She quickly recovers, though, her face serious again in a heartbeat. She takes one step closer.

“As much as I’d like to keep it pleasurable for both of us, I need to talk to you about Hogwarts,” she declares solemnly.

Magnus frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. He doesn’t know if it’s a gesture to show his gravity or one to shield himself from what’s coming. Probably both.

“Imogen wanted you to take on her role as Headmaster,” she announces almost nonchalantly, like this is nothing unexpected.

It is, though, and Magnus’ mouth falls open. Tanya pauses, lets him the time to recover and when he does, his eyes are still wide with surprise.

“What?” he exclaims, far louder than he expected. “I don’t want to be Headmaster! I would be terrible at it! How do you expect me to have even a semblance of authority on these kids when I can’t stand authority myself? And I’m already Head of Ravenclaw, I can’t be both, and I love being Head of Ravenclaw. I don’t want to let go of it.”

He knows he’s rambling, but he can’t seem to bring himself to stop. It is all too much to take in.

“Magnus,” she says softly, reaching out to put a comforting hand against his elbow. “That’s what she wanted but sadly, that is not what is going to happen. As much as I disagree with you and I’m sure you will make a great Headmaster of Hogwarts one day, we can’t afford to pour oil on an already uncontrollable fire by naming you Headmaster.”

Magnus heaves out a relieved breath. He knows he probably shouldn’t, especially because of the reasons she just stated, but being Headmaster of Hogwarts is far more responsibilities than he is willing to put up with right now.

“I hate it, but maybe Sebastian was partly right. We can’t give these people further motivation, not after what happened to Imogen.”

Magnus flinches at the mention of the detestable name that fits an even more detestable man and resists the urge to just grimace in disgust.

“Sebastian wasn’t right,” he retorts, probably more harshly than he should when talking to someone as powerful as Tanya Pond. “He’s a bigoted, racist, hateful man and he has wanted me out of Hogwarts from the day I started because my blood isn’t pure enough for his archaic mind-set.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Tanya tempers, her eyes softening a little. “Hogwarts is already a target and my job is to protect it. That means every single student, but also every single teacher, which includes you. I can’t put you in a situation where you’d be even more exposed than you already are.”

Magnus sighs, running a hand over his tired features. When did his life become so complicated? Why can’t he just go back to that moment, a week ago, when his eyes had met a beautiful pair of hazelnut ones and his only worry had been to find out the name behind those eyes? 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he huffs out. “A week ago, I thought my biggest problem would be to convince Elias he doesn’t need a broomstick before he’s thirty years old.”

Tanya scoffs out a quiet laugh, tilting her head in an almost fond manner. He doesn’t let the silence drag, because he doesn’t want to leave himself the time to dwell on his nostalgic reflections.

“Who’s the new Headmaster, then?” he asks.

“Tessa Gray,” she replies, and Magnus doesn’t even try to hold back the relief that pours through him, his shoulders slouching with fatigue as he lets out a deep sigh.

“Thank Merlin,” he mumbles. “I thought you were going to tell me it’d be one of Sebastian’s minions.”

“I want what’s best for Hogwarts,” Tanya retorts playfully, “and between you and I, what’s best for Hogwarts is that Sebastian stays away from it as much as possible, no matter that his blood is so pure that he would render Salazar Slytherin jealous.”

Magnus chuckles. He darts his eyes to the side, catches Raphael’s who raises an eyebrow at him impatiently. Tanya turns around, looking over her shoulder at Raphael whose fretful expression instantly disappears.

“Ah, Raphael Santiago,” she taunts, “always a ray of sunshine.”

“My own personal source of daily happiness,” Magnus replies teasingly. “I should go,” he adds. “Luke is taking us to Hogwarts.”

“I know,” Tanya says with a quick nod. “I’ll see you soon, Magnus. Take care of yourself.”

“You too, Tanya. But I’m sure that won’t be a problem, you were always quite good at that.”

She smiles and steps away without a second glance, joining the two Aurors waiting on the side that are now escorting her everywhere.

When he says goodbye to Elias, Ragnor and Catarina, Magnus can’t help but feel his heart tightening achingly in his chest.

Elias makes him promise to stop being sad and Magnus thinks that for him, he can at least try.

.

It feels weird, going back to Hogwarts after all those years.

The last time Alec stepped foot here, he was seventeen and he had genuinely thought he would never come back.

The valley that surrounds the seven-story high castle is a large stretch of green that contrasts deeply with the mountains overlooking the Great Lake, which looks darker than the last time he was here. It is like the magical creatures inhabiting it are aware of the late events and disclosed it through the color of the water, a dark, almost black, shade of blue.

He knows the castle has been standing for centuries, but he had somehow thought that in the eight years he was gone, it would have changed a little. It hasn’t. It is still the same castle, surrounded by the same magical atmosphere that makes it just that special.

It is even more odd now because the castle is empty and it is silent. Silent was never a word Alec associated with Hogwarts in his years studying here. Even the Slytherin common room, hidden behind a stone wall all the way down the dungeons of the castle, was never so quiet. Alec had spent years trying to find silence, wandering aimlessly in the corridors, and it had always been in vain.

But now he found it and it’s the most unsettling thing about being back.

Alec feels out of place in a place he used to think of as home. It used to be warm, and much more welcoming than the cold and strict Lightwood manor.

He actually finds himself looking forward to the following week, when the corridors will be filled with old and new students. Hopefully, this feeling will disappear and his melancholy will be replaced by a more pleasant nostalgia, the memories of the happy years he spent here surrounded by his siblings and the few friends he had.

“Earth to Lightwood!” booms a familiar voice behind him and he startles as Lydia snaps her fingers in front of his eyes to pull him out of his daydream.

Lydia is his partner and his best friend. They met on the Hogwarts Express when they were just eleven-year-old excited kids having no idea what was waiting for them there. They grew closer when they were both sorted in Slytherin and they were pretty much inseparable from then on. They went through the Auror formation together and were partnered by Luke as soon as he noticed how well they worked together.

They share the same deep sense of loyalty that is associated to their house, the same determination and perfectionism when it comes to doing their job.

“Garroway has called for us,” she informs him, grabbing his arm to drag him up the stairs that lead to the headmaster’s office. Alec lets himself be dragged. He learned a long time ago that fighting off Lydia is as effective as fighting off Isabelle, which is probably why these two are such good friends. They probably bonded on how they love to torment him and how he always ends up doing what they want of him, no matter how hard he tries to protest. “Acid Pops,” she states when they arrive in front of the gargoyle.

The gargoyles steps aside and they climb the stone staircase. Alec has been in the headmaster’s office before, albeit rarely, sometimes because it was to fulfill his duties as Head Boy of Slytherin, sometimes to be scolded by Imogen Herondale when Jace somehow managed to drag him in his shenanigans. He keeps good memories of both.

The office is a large circular room, illuminated by the day light peaking through its many windows, casting light on the bookshelves that scatter every single wall. Behind the large oak-desk that sits in the middle of the room, a newly-added portrait of Imogen Herondale looks over the room and Alec’s stomach twists in an uneasy feeling at the knowledge that it probably wasn’t here two days ago.

His eyes dart over the room and he stops dead in his tracks as they settle on the small group of people gathered in the office. More accurately, his eyes set on a somehow familiar face, although he can’t associate a name to it.

Alec doesn’t know why  _ he  _ caught his eyes the first time he saw him at the Quidditch game. There is something about him, a magical – for lack of a better word – aura that transpires through every pore of his being. It had been in the luminous grin he had sent Alec the day of the game as well as in his mischievous wink.  

Today, Alec doesn’t recognize the spark straight away. When he catches his eyes – they are a deep brown prickled with green and gold, lined by a dark teal eyeliner that matches his nail polish, not that Alec has really noticed – they still shine like they did the first time he met them, but he can also read something else in them. It’s fleeting and he almost thinks he imagined it for a second, but underneath the apparent lightheartedness, he can definitely read grief and sorrow and a misery he finds himself wanting to chase away.

His honeyed skin is shining under the gleaming of lights cresting through the windows and Alec wonders if it’s actual glitter that adds an extra glow to his already scintillating appearance or if his whirling mind is imagining it. He is not wearing the robes that Alec’s teachers used to wear and Alec is suddenly very glad that this ancestral tradition doesn’t apply when students aren’t filling the school. It gives him all the freedom to fully appreciate the way the man’s long legs are lined by the skinny jeans he is wearing and how his silk shirt shows off far more chest than strictly necessary – not that Alec really minds, but it’s awfully distracting.  

There are necklaces around his neck, many rings on his fingers, and just as many bracelets on his wrists. He moves in elegant flourishes, like he is constantly dancing, and Alec just can’t look away.

He realizes he is staring but the man is staring right back, and the room seems to fill with such electric tension that Alec wonders inwardly if someone has cast a spell to deliberately slow the regular pace of time and prolong Alec’s agony.

Eventually, it is Lydia – thank Merlin for Lydia, he will have to remember to buy her that ancient book she’s been blabbering about for weeks – that pulls him out of his reverie by unceremoniously elbowing him straight in the ribs.

He clears his throat and shakes his head, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment. When he darts his eyes back to the man, he is smirking, like he knows exactly everything that just went through Alec’s mind. Alec really hopes he is not a Legilimens because if he is, he might as well just die from mortification right now. He looks away immediately, not willing to repeat the staring match they had engaged in mere seconds ago.

“Lydia, Alec,” Luke calls out, and it is not as disapproving as he expected so he hopes his internal turmoil has been unnoticed at least by him, because it’s definitely wasn’t by Lydia. “Let me introduce you.”

Alec is eternally grateful, for once, for the years he spent hiding his true self to the world because it is the only reason why he manages to pull himself back together and build back the composure of the soldier that he is. He stands tall on his feet, chin held up straight as he strides the few steps that separate them from the rest of the group.

“This is Tessa Gray,” Luke goes on as soon as they stand next to him. “Hogwarts’ new headmaster.”

She has long wavy brown hair that fall in waves on her shoulders and emphasizes her pale face. Her gray-blue eyes scan him silently, but he has to resist the urge to squirm under her gaze. She looks at him like she can read into his very soul, like she knows all of his secrets, even the ones he doesn’t know himself. Her hand feels miniscule in his when he shakes it, but he knows already that it would be foolish of him to mistake her slender appearance for weakness. She looks fierce and untamable. 

“And this is Magnus Bane,” Luke says when Alec lets go of her hand. “He is Hogwarts’ unofficial Deputy Headmaster and the Head of Ravenclaw,” he adds.

But Alec barely hears the second half of his sentence. His mind can only focus on the first one.

“B-Bane?” he blurts out, eyes widening at he casts an almost accusatory glance at the man. “Like Professor Bane?”

“I love it when pretty boys know my name,” Magnus replies with a teasing smirk, “although Professor Bane seems awfully formal. Magnus is enough.” He pauses for a second, eyeing Alec up and down shamelessly. “Unless you’re into that kind of thing,” he adds boldly.

“Magnus,” Tessa scoffs and it’s obvious that she tries to make it sound disapproving but it only comes out as a breathy chuckle. 

Alec blushes and he opens his mouth to reply but just closes it immediately, choosing to focus back on his initial surprise instead. “Y-You’re Max’s favorite teacher!” he stammers, somewhat accusingly. “He talks about you all the time!”

Magnus positively beams at that, his eyes lighting up with glee. “I’m his favorite teacher?” he echoes and his grin is so luminous that Alec wonders inwardly if he could go blind just from looking at it. 

Alec nods in lieu of an answer, unable to find his words.

“Alec and Lydia will be in charge of the Aurors protecting Hogwarts,” Luke announces, cutting short Magnus who looks like he is about to start a victory dance. “They are two of my best elements. You can rely on them to protect you.”

“Oh, I’m relying on them to do far more than protect me,” Magnus mumbles under his breath, although it is obviously meant for all of them to hear.

Tessa clicks her tongue at him disapprovingly, but Alec doesn’t think she looks very convincing. Luke chuckles, shaking his head fondly like this is a normal occurrence.

“The rest of the Aurors are settling in their quarters right now,” Luke adds.

“Which are where?” Magnus asks with a mischievous smirk. “I’m asking entirely for purely innocent reasons, of course.”

“Of course,” Tessa indulges him, patting his shoulder lightly. “Their headquarters are down the dungeons, next to the Slytherin common room –“ Alec can’t help but to grin at that. He hasn’t had the chance to take a walk around the castle yet, but he’s looking forward to rediscovering every single corner of the place, especially the dungeons, which were never cold to him but pleasant and almost cozy instead. “- but this is just the space they need to carry out their investigations. Their rooms are scattered over the castle.”

“Anyone sleeping in the Ravenclaw Tower?” Magnus inquires innocently.

“I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself,” Tessa retorts teasingly. Magnus pouts at her but she ignores him, focusing back on Alec and Lydia. She is about to add something when the door to the office opens behind Alec’s back and they all turn towards it in a same movement.

“Magnus!” Isabelle exclaims as she bounces into the room.

Alec watches bemusedly as she all but runs to the professor and pulls him into a hug. He’s even more bewildered to witness the familiarity with which Magnus embraces her as well, like he is greeting an old friend. Alec doesn’t think his sister even mentioned being friends with someone as outstanding as Magnus. He would have remembered. Contrary to popular beliefs, he actually listens to his sister when she talks to him about boys. Most of the time.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she says when she pulls back. “Dr. Loss told us you were but it’s so good to see you.”

“You too, Izzy,” Magnus replies with a gentle smile, holding her at arm length, both his hands on her shoulders. “I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your fire message. The last few days have been… frantic, to say the least.”

There it is again, that poignant spark Alec got a glimpse of earlier. It makes him look older, like he is carrying a burden too heavy for himself. Once more, Alec blinks and it’s gone, the gleeful smile back on Magnus’ face as if it had never left.

Isabelle turns to Luke. “We’re done, boss,” she says. “Everyone is waiting in the Great Hall for the final briefing. The rest of the teaching staff is there too.”

“She’s very excited about being back at Hogwarts,” someone murmurs next to him and Alec almost jumps, looking down at Maia, who he hasn’t heard approaching.

Maia is Isabelle’s partner. She is younger than all of them and it is somehow obvious in the way her amber eyes still shine with excitement every time she goes on a mission. Or maybe it’s that Alec is a bit blasé. She has light brown skin and curly brown hair that she always wear loose when she isn’t working, which Alec knows because of all the times Isabelle forced him to get a drink with them after his shift, claiming that he should socialize more if he doesn’t want to die a lonely old man. It’s not that Alec doesn’t have a social life. He does go out sometimes and he has the occasional hook-up, although he never mentions that part of his life to neither Isabelle nor Jace because he knows he would never hear the end of it. It’s just that his social life is not as exciting as Isabelle’s, who makes new friends every two weeks and is always aware of every latest gossip, or Jace’s, whose career as a Quidditch player brought along hordes of groupies and an agenda probably busier than the Minister of Magic’s. Alec likes his boring social life that consists of seeing the same people he’s been friends with for years, in the same places he always goes to, having the same drink he always gets.

Isabelle and Maia work as well together as Lydia and himself, although they are ten times more chaotic. Maia has only been an Auror for two years, but she is great at it. She has quick reflexes and a physical strength that sometimes leaves Alec befuddled when they occasionally train together. Isabelle is not as strong, but she compensates what she lacks in strength with impeccable aim and a fierce intelligence when it comes to finding a solution to seemingly impossible problems.

Alec glances at his sister and can’t help but smile at the genuine glee on her features. Maia is right, she looks delighted to be back at Hogwarts. Her dark eyes are wide and happy. Alec knows it has as much to do with being back here as it has with the fact that Jace got out of St. Mungo’s Hospital this morning and they were able to see him for an hour between Imogen’s funeral and Apparating in Hogsmeade.

Knowing Jace was okay and actually seeing him on his feet, making inappropriate jokes and snarky comments like he always does, were two very different things and they all feel lighter now. Alec realizes none of this is over – his mere presence at Hogwarts is proof of it – but as long as his family and the people he cares about are okay, he can deal with whatever is thrown his way. 

“Yes,” he tells Maia, affectionately ruffling her hair. She smacks his hand away but chuckles at the same time. “She probably can’t wait to terrorize any kid that’d be foolish enough to talk shit about Ravenclaw,” he taunts, following as the group starts leaving the headmaster’s office to head to the Dining Hall. “She can get very protective over her house.”

Maia snorts. “As if you weren’t,” she mocks gently, hooking her arm with his to walk with him. She is small, barely reaches his shoulders but she makes up for it with the fierceness she shares with Isabelle. “I’ve witnessed you and Jace arguing about which house is better more times than I can count.”

“He’s the one always bringing it up!” Alec protests. “I wouldn’t argue with him about it if he wasn’t so stubborn.”

“He just likes teasing you,” Lydia cuts in with a cheeky smirk. “It’s your fault for being so easy to wind up.”

She is walking next to him and Maia, a slight bounce to her steps as they stride down the stairs that lead to the Dining Hall. The stairs are moving, but not enough to make them lose their balance or their way. Alec glares at her, but she ignores him with her chin held high.

Isabelle is walking next to Magnus, chattering passionately whilst gesturing widely with her arms. Alec’s eyes might be wandering a bit lower because Magnus walking in front of him is oddly distracting, but no one can prove it.

Except maybe for Lydia, who pinches his arm, efficiently cutting short his staring. He hisses, snatching his arm away from her. “The mission, Alec,” she says, sounding a lot like his mother when she scolded him as a child. “That’s why we’re here.”

“I know,” he exclaims defensively, his cheeks flushing.

Alec is a professional, a soldier, and his job is his life. It always has been. Isabelle frequently reprimands him about it, not that he really cares.

He likes the routine of his life, likes that he gets to do something he genuinely loves for a living, that he is never bored and that he can share all of that with his best friend. The knowledge that Isabelle is never far from him is just another perk.

Alec is a soldier. He follows orders, would never even dream of contradicting one of Luke’s commands, unless he’d deem it unfair or precarious, which are two words that can thankfully never be applied to the Head of the Auror Office. Alec likes rules and ranks. It makes things easier.

He is patient too, and that, he probably mostly owes to having three younger siblings who like to make his life a living hell. He can endure hardship, but he does not quit, ever. This is also the result of his parents’ strict education. He is grateful, in a way, for the severity they raised him and his siblings in, because it’s probably the reason why he is so good at his job. It is strangely ironic when you know how much they hate that Isabelle and he chose this path of a career.

He trains for at least an hour every day, practicing spells he has mastered a long time ago, relentlessly pushing his body to its limits and his mind to be prepared for every eventuality. He is as familiar with his wand as he is with the rest of the arsenal of weapons the Aurors dispose of.

Most of all, Alec is a fighter. He is determined – he does not retreat, has never run away from a fight – and driven. He knows how to finish a fight when he starts it, can read the strategy of an enemy in a single second, and figure out a shrewd way to turn it to his advantage. It took him years to be able to read people as easily as he can now and he realizes, just as they finally step inside the Great Hall, that this is probably what he finds so fascinating about Magnus Bane.

He appears open, with his wide smiles and flourishes, the way he catches the attention of a room whenever he opens his mouth, and yet, Alec can’t read him.

The person we are and the person we show to the world are two very different things. Alec would be a fool to ignore it, especially when he spends so much time hiding himself, but Magnus seems to be the epitome of this idiom. He shows everything and nothing all at once.

The Aurors and professors filling the room are cut into two distinct groups, like they are afraid meddling together would make this whole thing permanent. Alec knows it is going to be. They will be in Hogwarts as long as the Children of Merlin haven’t been stopped and locked away in Azkaban.

He recognizes Raphael Santiago, one of Jace’s teammates and he wonders inwardly what he is doing here when he is neither a teacher nor an Auror but he doesn’t have the time to ask before a mess of limbs and loud chatter literally attacks him.

“Alec!” Simon exclaims, yanking at his arm to pull him into a frantic hug. His light brown eyes are wide behind his glasses, his disheveled mop of brown hair sticking out in every direction. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he adds and as much as he doesn’t want to, Alec smiles, awkwardly patting his back until Simon eventually lets go of him.

Simon is two years younger than him and, like Lydia, they met at Hogwarts many years ago. Simon is a Muggle-born and when he arrived at Hogwarts, he had been completely lost, unable to adapt to a magical world that was so foreign to him. That had been until he had discovered wizard’s chess. Alec remembers how he had found Alec reading a book about the board game in the library one day and had started blabbering about it until Alec had finally lost it, smashed his book shut and accepted his offer (that had sounded a lot like a demand) to play.

He had been upset, at first, when he had lost the game to a kid two years younger than him who wasn’t even a born wizard, and that was the only reason why he had offered Simon a second  game. After that, it had become a regular occurrence. Alec had lost as many games as he had won ones and, somewhere along the years, he had mostly gained a friend. A weird, overly talkative and excessively annoying friend, but a friend regardless. Simon is probably the main reason why Alec has been driven at an early age away from the pure-blood ideology that still exists far too universally in ancient wizard families like his own.

Simon is a Hufflepuff to the core: kind, hard-working and tolerant, fiercely loyal but no less brave. He also shares with Alec a blunt honesty that can sometimes bring him trouble, but he somehow always manages to get out of it with a deluge of words.

Even now that they are both adults, they frequently meet for a friendly game of chess or a drink and Alec is always happy to use it as an excuse to let Isabelle know that he does have a social life. She always replies “ _ you hanging out with Simon is not having a social life, you are both socially awkward and it only makes it worth _ ” but Alec ignores it.

“Okay,” a velvety voice whirs in his back and Alec freezes, a wave of shivers travelling down his spine, “Sheldon, are you telling me you know him as well?”

Magnus isn’t addressing him. Clearly, Sheldon is meant to be Simon and Alec thinks that it is probably weird that he doesn’t know the name of his colleague, but he shuts his mouth. He’s afraid he’d embarrass himself by offering a full show of his legendary eloquence by stammering like a teenager with a crush. Which he isn’t, neither a teenager, nor with a crush.

“Of course,” Simon replies with his eternal excited tone. “Alec is one of my best friends.”

Alec would protest for good measure but that would be lying. Simon is indeed one of his best friends, as much as it pains him to admit it.

“I can’t believe it,” Magnus exclaims, throwing his hands in the air dramatically. “How can my friends betray me that way? Merlin, why can’t I trust anyone?”

Alec’s frown is perfectly mirrored by Simon’s, although he doesn’t really look affected by Magnus’ theatricality.

“What are you talking about?” Simon inquires.

“First Isabelle, then Ragnor, and now you!” Magnus utters, his long ring-clad fingers moving graciously as he gestures widely. “You’re all acquainted with Mr. Gorgeous Auror in shining armor with the face of an angel and the arms forged by the gods over here, and  _ none  _ of you have ever thought of introducing us before?”

He sounds positively offended. It takes Alec an embarrassingly long moment to realize Magnus is talking about him, and when he does, he feels his cheeks flaming again and his lips part in both shock and utter mortification.

“Oh, you mean Alec?” Simon chuckles, completely oblivious to Alec’s disarray and Alec decides on the spot that they are not friends anymore. Nope. Simon is a filthy traitor. “I’m sure I’ve mentioned him to you before. I thought you knew him already, actually, since we were all at Hogwarts at pretty much the same time. And you know his sister from that time you work with the Auror Office so,  you know, I figured you’d know him already. And I couldn’t guess he would be your type. You don’t have a type. Your tastes in lovers are all over the place. Alec doesn’t look anything like that last guy you dated, the one with the weird obsession with dragons.” Simon pauses, takes a breath and scoots a quick glance on the side at Alec, eyeing him purposely. “I never really noticed the arms.”

“Did someone cast a Cruciatus you?” Magnus almost shouts, his eyes scanning Simon accusingly. “I see no other explanation than you being blind. And that’s only the arms, I didn’t mention the pretty eyes or the dark hair or the cheekbones or the jaw line. And don’t get me started on that piece of a–”

“Okay,” Alec blurts out hastily. There is too much rambling around him. His face is burning and he has to clear his throat to try to appear composed, although he has no doubt that he is failing miserably. So much for being the perfect emotionless soldier. “I think we get the idea.”

Magnus raises his gaze on him, a devilish smirk tugging at his lips and Alec immediately regrets speaking.

“Good,” he all but purrs. “Just wanted to make sure we were on the same wavelength, darling.”

“O-Okay,” Alec manages to stammer very eloquently.

“If you need someone to help you reacquaint yourself with the castle, don’t hesitate to ask”, Magnus adds with a sly wink. “I know it like the back of my hand. Every single nook and dark corner.”

How he manages to make something that could be so innocent sound so dirty is beyond Alec’s understanding. He catches Lydia’s eyes over the room, who just quirks an eyebrow at him and he mentally thanks her for the unspoken reminder, a semblance of warning that would turn into a smack behind his head if he was standing close enough. He stands taller on his feet and this way, as he hovers a few centimeters above Magnus, he feels safer.

“Yeah, sure,” he replies sternly in his best military voice. “The team could use a tour, not everyone went to Hogwarts.”

Magnus doesn’t deflate. Instead, his smirk seems to widen and he rubs his hands together.

“Of course. I’m supposed to take care of all of you as much as you take care of us, after all,” he says with a more genuine smile. “It’s my role as unofficial Deputy Headmaster.”

“Why unofficial?” Alec asks before he can stop himself, brow furrowed in confusion.

Magnus snorts, but it is devoid of any humor. His eyes darken and he shares a quick glance with Simon before focusing back on Alec. “I’m a Muggle-born,” he states as if it explains everything.

“And?” Alec wonders out loud, genuinely confused.

Magnus seems surprised by the simplicity of Alec’s question.

“And I don’t know if you’ve seen the news lately, but we aren’t exactly popular,” Magnus replies sharply. The harsh tone is not meant for Alec, not really, and Alec understands  the meaning behind it far more than he’d like.

A week ago, when the explosion occurred, he had to carry the bodies of dead children out of the ruins of the stadium to access some wounded wizards who had been stuck underneath. He doesn’t think he will ever forget their lifeless eyes staring back at him, nor will he forget the cries of the victims, of their families, of their loved ones as they had waited in the cold corridors of St. Mungo’s Hospital for news of Jace’s state.

He had seen misery like he never had before, had been forced to stare at it right in the eyes and not look back. It’s a feeling that will stick with him for a very long time. It still wakes him up at night a week later.

“You can’t help how you’re born,” Alec says, with a nonchalant shrug that is only destined to alleviate the gravity of their conversation.

How they drifted to such a serious subject is kind of lost to him as he catches the fleeting sad spark in Magnus’ eyes again.

Magnus looks up at him and smiles, a small, barely there smile, nothing in comparison to the luminous grin which lights up his eyes that Alec has seen before. It’s a smile that is meant to hide his true feelings, how utterly devastated he is inside but in that single moment, Alec can see it.

Right then, he understands why they are here, in Hogwarts, ready to protect the castle and their inhabitants with their lives if they have to.

It is so the next generation of Muggle-born wizards, of people like Magnus and Simon, doesn’t grow up with that spark in their eyes. It is so they never have to stare in the face of injustice and feel as powerless as Alec does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go for today my cupcakes.
> 
> I have mixed feelings about this chapter so... Let me know what you thought on this chapter with comments, kudos, asks on tumblr, yelling on twitter or offerings to Satan (a.k.a me).
> 
> Did I mention that I'm a sucker for Simon/Alec friendship? And grumpy cat Raphael? And badass women??  
> And that politics is my daily job? Just in case it wasn't clear already? :)  
> Well, now you know.
> 
> My [beta](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/) is one of the cool kids.
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) (yup, I changed my username) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit)
> 
> All the love, ❤  
> L.


	4. I solemnly swear that I am up to no good

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey cupcakes,
> 
> This chapter got out of hand (again) but I'm not going to pretend I have a modicum of self-control left in me.  
> I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Ps: If you're live-tweeting, don't forget to use #lecrit or to tag [me](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) so I can appreciate it ;)

Alec watches the students arriving from the doorsteps of the castle, his eyes drifting between the blasé expressions of older ones and the half excited/half bewildered looks in the younger ones, who are glancing everywhere around themselves.

Lydia is standing by his side, her arms crossed over her chest, and an overly grave expression on her face. Alec suspects she is purposely trying to scare the poor kids but he doesn’t chastise her. One, because he thinks it’s kind of funny. And two, because Lydia never listens to him anyway and she would just snort at his face.

A bit further down the hill, by the gates where the students are coming from, he can see Magnus speaking with Isabelle and another man. Narrowing his eyes, Alec recognizes him as the Herbology Professor he was introduced to the day before. Meliorn – he thinks that’s his name, but Alec is terrible with names so he can’t be entirely sure – is dressed in fancy light green robes trimmed with golden patterns that catch the sun and make him and his dark skin shine. He is smiling, looking up at Magnus, who is showing him something in the distance.

This is starting to get problematic, Alec ponders to himself; every time Magnus catches his eyes, he just can’t look away. There is something too entrancing about the way he moves, the elegant swirl of his body, and the way his fingers curl graciously purposely as he talks, like a snake curving smoothly around its prey. This is something predatory about Magnus, something redoubtable that leaves Alec to wonder why anyone would think he is less powerful than any other wizard because of his blood. He wouldn’t dream of underestimating him.

He hasn’t seen Magnus much in the five days they have been at Hogwarts. They spent most of their time working on reinforcing the castle’s defenses and between arranging everything in the Aurors headquarters, settling in his own room – it’s very close to the Slytherin Dungeons and he couldn’t be happier – and going through various briefings with his team to lay out different duos throughout the castle, Alec had a lot on his hands. He is impossibly glad to have Lydia here with him because he couldn’t do any of this without her. She has been by his side for so long now, he really can’t see himself working if she isn’t here to keep him grounded.

Alec is good at throwing orders and building out a plan, but he sometimes goes overboard and forgets that taking a break is necessary every once in a while. Lydia is always here to remind him and he does the same with her because, truly, she is no better. This is partly why they are perfect together. They have no problem with telling each other off, even when it is extremely hypocritical of them.

Alec is pulled out of his thoughts when they are eventually joined by Isabelle, Magnus and Meliorn, who are following the last of the students. It is a small group of young students who are stumbling on their feet as they enter the castle and Alec can’t help but smile, plagued with flashbacks of Lydia and him doing the same thing about fifteen years ago.

“Have you seen Max?” Isabelle exclaims as she bounces her way to him, a wide grin growing on her red-painted lips.

Alec frowns. “No, I must have missed him.”

Lydia snorts next to him. “I wonder why that is,” she mumbles, and he throws her a pointed glare that only makes her smirk grow more malicious.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alec deadpans and turns to Isabelle. “Perimeter secured? No breaching tentative?”

“All clear,” Isabelle replies.

She doesn’t have the time to elaborate as they are interrupted by Maia who is coming out of the castle, Simon on her heels.

“The students are all in the Great Hall,” she says with a carefree smile. “The patrolling teams are all in place.”

“Good,” Lydia replies with a stern nod, before motioning for everyone to get inside.

When they get in the Dining Hall, Alec is overwhelmed for a second by the chaotic disorder that surrounds the room. It’s mainly loud chatter, friends celebrating their reunion with a hug and the creaking noise of chairs scraping on the floor.

Tessa Gray is standing at the back of the room, behind the long dining table that faces the students. She is a petite woman, but she looks fierce as she scans the room, her gray-blue eyes hovering above every head with a calculated calm.

Alec darts a look across the room and his eyes stop on the Ravenclaw table, where Max is already sitting. His little brother catches him watching and grins at him that lopsided smile that seems to be in the Lightwoods genes. Alec smiles back for a second, but Max is already drifting his attention away, turning to a teenager to his left, who leans in to whisper in Max’s ear. A second later, they’re both snickering and Alec’s brow furrows in confusion.

There is a chuckle behind him and he turns around to face Magnus, who is looking at Max and his friend, now fully laughing, and Alec isn’t sure he likes it.

“That’s Julian Blackthorn,” Magnus informs him with a smirk. “His partner in crime.”

Realization crosses over his features as Alec follows Magnus to the table at the back of the room. “I’ve never seen him before.”

Magnus curves an eyebrow at him and Alec blinks. “Don’t they see each other during the summer?”

“Yeah but…” Alec pauses, heaves out a deep sigh.

“Let me guess,” Magnus cuts in with a smirk. “You’re always working whenever Julian comes over.”

“There’s that,” he admits with a shrug. “And I don’t live in the Lightwood Manor anymore. Haven’t in a while and I don’t visit much.”

He doesn’t elaborate any further and Magnus doesn’t ask. Instead, he winks at Alec, who clears his throat to hide a growing blush, and takes the seat next to Tessa.

Alec goes to stand behind them, hands hooked behind his back, his face a mask of great gravity. Simon and Clary are not here yet, because they are staying with the first years who are undoubtedly eagerly waiting to be sorted into their houses. In spite of their absence, the Great Hall is a conundrum, but Alec can’t help but notice that the tables should be more filled than they are now.

He knows a few students lost their lives in the attacks ten days ago, and Simon told him when they were playing wizard’s chess the day before that some of the parents refused to let their children go back for another year with the threats that hover upon the school. 

Magnus is leaning towards Tessa, whispering to her with a small scowl on his face, and she nods silently, looking right in front of her. It is almost impressive, the way the room falls into a religious silence as soon as Tessa Gray stands from her seat.

There is something magnetic about her presence and Alec wonders if it’s a side effect of spending so much time in Hogwarts. Apart from Simon - but Alec will never be objective when it comes to Simon - all of the teachers here seem to give off a particular aura, a dormant power that is only asking to be unleashed. He pities the poor souls who want to go after Hogwarts. Even without the presence of him and his team, it is clear that this school and its students are under more than capable protection.

“The very best of evenings to you all,” she declares, her voice carrying over in the whole room with authority. “The teaching faculty has some announcements to make, but first, let’s proceed with the Sorting ceremony.”

Magnus rises from his seat and walks to the stool at the head of the Great Hall where the Sorting Hat is resting, a soft snore escaping the wrinkles that form its mouth. It grumbles when Magnus pats it with his wand. The hat doesn’t sing like it did in Alec’s memory and he doesn’t know if it’s because it can’t be bothered, or for other grimmer reasons, but he is not about to question it if it can save his ears from the torture.

The ceremony starts without any of its usual magical flourish and the first years are sorted one after one. Alec has to repress a smile a few times when an overly nervous student trips over his own feet or when another one bumps up and down with excitement when she is sorted in Hufflepuff, joining their table under her new housemates’ cheers. Magnus does his job with a fond spark in his eyes, holding the hat over every student’s head, telling them what to do and where to go with a soft, gentle voice that seems to do wonders to reassure the most anxious of them.

There are approaching the end of the alphabet when the atmosphere shifts drastically. It only takes one word.

“Whitelaw, Adam,” Magnus calls out, reading out the name from the list in his hand.

There are not many kids left on the side so it makes the boy’s refusal to move ten times more conspicuous. Magnus frowns and turns to look over his shoulder, gesturing for him to step forward.

“No,” Adam says with an arrogance that shouldn’t be so pregnant in an eleven-year-old.

Alec holds his breath as he catches the surprise that crosses in Magnus’ gaze for a second. He knows where this is going, but there is nothing he can do to stop it. This is not his place. This is not why he is here. Still, he doesn’t want to see the soft, gentle expression Magnus has been sporting for the whole ceremony turn into a devastated one when he finally understands why the kid is refusing to move.

Adam is a little thing, really, but he holds himself straight on his feet, his chin held up in defiance, and it makes him look both taller and older. His skin is white as snow and his light brown hair falls into immovable steel-grey eyes. His arms are crossed over his chest and it only makes obvious his attempt at appearing older than he is. Alec wants to smack the kid, but he doesn’t move, balling his fists at his sides.

“Whitelaw, Adam,” Magnus repeats.

“My brother doesn’t want a Mudblood touching him,” drawls a bitter voice besides the boy. “And neither do I, for that matter.”

Alec only notices now the girl that is standing behind Adam. She is a perfect mirror of his brother. They share the same aristocratic features: high cheekbones, transparent skin and palpable arrogance.

“Well –” Magnus starts and Alec sees the way he clenches his teeth, although he does a decent job at hiding it. He glances down at the list in his hand and takes a barely perceptible breath before he looks up again, “- Grace, in that case, you and your brother will end up without a house and that’s going to pose a problem.”

Alec can’t help but think that she doesn’t deserve her name. There is nothing graceful about the way her childish traits turn into a grimace of pure disgust as she eyes Magnus up and down like he is not worthy of her attention.

“I’m sure you have another professor who can do it for you,” Grace replies coldly. “Someone more… suited.”

Alec knows the Whitelaws. Their families have been friends with his for centuries and their blood is as pure as they come. The few rebels that might have wanted to marry even a half-blood have been erased from the family tree without a second thought. He has had to suffer through dinners with Adam and Grace’s parents, Alastair and Elizabeth, a few times and it’s always pure torture.

He can almost hear their words echoing in their daughter’s voice.

Magnus gives her a sweet smile and his voice is devastatingly calm when he next speaks. “Of course, my dear,” he says, and his lips pull into an almost feral smirk. “Mr. Lewis, would you like to do the honors?” he asks as he turns to Simon.

If Alec has been wondering why none of the other professor has intervened yet, it is suddenly made very clear. Magnus holds his ground with the fierceness of someone who has had to suffer through similar scenes all his life and he is the epitome of composed. Apart from the small, defiant smirk that tugs at the corner of his lips, he is impassible, his eyes cold and determined. He knows why no one has intervened. It is because Magnus needs to assert his authority right now, and alone, or it will be lost to him forever.

Adam huffs out an indignant scoff, his mouth falling open in blatant aversion.  He steps forward with his chin held up in defiance and sits on the stool, wincing when Magnus gets closer to hold the Sorting hat over his head. Alec wouldn’t mind if the hat suddenly decided to swallow him on the spot.

Alec has to refrain from groaning when the Whitelaw twins are both sorted in Slytherin and he hears Lydia sigh next to him, undeniably sharing his thoughts.

“Congratulations to you both,” Magnus thunders after Grace has stepped away from him to join her brother, who has been waiting for her down the steps. “Fifty points from Slytherin,” he adds coolly.

A wave of groans crests over the Slytherin table but Magnus shuts it down with a pointed glare.

Adam and Grace go to sit with a small group of students that greet them with pats on the back but none of the usual enthusiastic cheers welcome their arrival to the table. From the look of them, Alec has no problem figuring out that the ones greeting them are the twins’ other siblings: a boy and a girl that look as delightful as their younger siblings, and two older boys that wear the Slytherin colors as a warning flag.

The rest of the ceremony runs smoothly, but Magnus has lost the soft spark that had welcomed the other students, and it is obvious to Alec that the small smile he is displaying is a façade.

When all the first years have been sorted, he walks around the front table to sit back next to Tessa. He purposely ignores the eyes of everyone around the table, his face a perfect mask of impassivity. Alec catches the gaze of Raphael Santiago, who is sitting on Magnus’ other side and he reads there a rage that is all on Magnus’ behalf and certainly matches the one Alec is desperately trying to repress.

They are children, he considers bitterly as he gets a quick glimpse to the Whitelaws. They should not be full of the hatred they just displayed already. They should be fretting about their first year in Hogwarts, about meddling with the other students and making friends. But their main worry had been to show evidence of their bigoted education instead.

They are children and yet, they have already been corrupted by the narrow-mindedness of adults who should be teaching them the virtue of tolerance. He feels sick to his stomach.

It is worsened by the full knowledge that he could have been exactly like them at their age if he hadn’t learned to know better.

He is pulled out of his brooding by Tessa Gray who stands up again, plunging the room in a deep silence once more.

“Welcome to our new students,” she says, a barely noticeable softness to her voice, “and to our old students, welcome back. Another year full of magical education awaits you and I trust you will make the most of it. Now, before we begin our banquet, I have a few announcements to make. As the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, I will not be able to carry on with the Flying lessons. Hogwarts’ administration is currently looking for a new teacher, but in the meantime, Raphael Santiago has accepted to take on the position temporarily.”

She gestures to Raphael and a wave of excited murmurs wields through the Dining Hall. Raphael doesn’t react, both his hands gripping the armrests of his wooden chair.

“Silence,” Tessa demands and the next second, Alec can hear with frightening accuracy the sound of Raphael’s nails scratching against the wood of his chair. “This is temporary,” she repeats sternly. “As you must all be aware now, Hogwarts is placed under close protection this year due to the recent events. We have Aurors all over the school. They will stay here for as long as required. If you are aware of anything that could endanger your safety or the one of anyone in this school, please share the information with either a member of the teaching staff or Mr. Lightwood and Mrs. Branwell behind me, who are in charge of the Aurors looking after us. We ask of you to let them do their job and not add any other charge on their hands. There will be strict sanctions taken against anyone breaking the curfew.”

She pauses, letting everything sink in for a moment and Alec hears her breath hitch in her throat before she continues. “Hogwarts lost a few students in the recent attacks. If you need to talk to someone, you can come to any of us or go directly to our matron, Mrs. Brown.”

Mrs. Brown – Maureen, Alec has to remind himself – is a petite woman with dark skin and dark hair that circle her pretty face in a mess of curls. Her eyes are a light brown and they transpire of kindness, which he guesses is a useful quality to have in her line of work. 

Tessa doesn’t stop and she darts a cold gaze at the Whitelaws, still sitting at the Slytherin table, a bored expression on both their faces. “Prejudice in any form is not welcome in Hogwarts. We are living dark times but we will not allow dangerous, hateful speeches to find their way into those walls. This is a safe place for every witch and wizard. Please do your best to keep it that way. Thank you.”

She claps her hands twice and hundreds of plates are instantly set on each of the four House tables, filled with various types of food that would make Jace’s mouth water if he was here.

Alec keeps his stand behind the professors, eyes scanning the room warily, but he sees no danger here.

He sees children thrown into a reality that shouldn’t be theirs.

.

After the feast, the Dining Hall quickly empties, the students led out by their respective prefects, each house escorted by an Auror. Alec stays behind and, after a quick talk with Lydia, walks straight to the Ravenclaw table where Max is still sitting, absently chewing on an apple.

He groans when Alec sits down on the table in front of him, reaching out to ruffle his dark mop of hair.

“Does you and Izzy being here mean you’re going to humiliate me in front of all of my friends?” Max grumbles.

Alec reaches out to fill a plate with much deserved food. He is positively starving and having to watch everyone eating had been torture. Now that the room is almost empty, he thinks he can allow himself.

“Not as long as you behave,” Alec retorts with a smirk.

Max glares at him, taking an almost vicious bite at his apple. “Careful, big brother,” he says, but the tone is light and teasing. “I wouldn’t want to have no choice but to disclose information to Mother and Father about that time you got drunk with Jace and broke her ancient mirror.”

“It’s not like I can disappoint them more than I already have,” Alec counters, pointing with his fork at his little brother.

“You became an Auror just to antagonize them, didn’t you?” Max taunts, dropping his apple core on his empty plate.

Alec chuckles and pops a roasted potato into his mouth. “Sure,” he snorts.

“I knew it,” Max exclaims exaggeratedly. “There’s no way you just want to help people, you’re a Slytherin.”

Alec glares at him and picks up a cherry to throw it at his face. Max throws his head back as he laughs, the sound echoing in the almost deserted hall.

“And you’re a little shit,” he counters because he is a grown-up adult. “As if your house is any better.  _ Wit beyond measure is man’s greatest treasure _ ,” he quotes, before snorting, staring mockingly at his brother. “My ass. That’s just an arrogant way to say ‘we think we’re above everyone else’.”

“I’m going to have to resent that,” comes a voice behind his back and he freezes.

For a second, he experiences that same sensation he used to feel whenever Jace managed to drag him in his shenanigans and he inevitably ended up making them both lose points for their houses.

He turns around slowly. Magnus is standing there, holding a small child by the shoulders. He stares down at the Lightwoods brothers with a raised eyebrow.

“Alexander, I am disappointed,” he sighs. “Houses prejudice is not appreciated in these walls.”

Alec blanches and he blinks twice before he manages to make incoherent sounds blurt out of his mouth.

“That’s not – I mean – I didn’t – I was just…”

Can he take points from Slytherin himself for his utter lack of eloquence?

He stops mid-sentence because he realizes two things. One, he’s making a fool of himself. Two, Magnus is smirking in a way that implies nothing good.

“So much for being a strong and tough Auror,” Max mumbles under his breath and Alec has to resist the urge to throw another cherry – or ten – to his head.

“I was teasing, Alexander,” Magnus says, his smirk widening at Max’s comment. “Maxwell,” he then calls out and Alec doesn’t miss the way his little brother straightens up in his seat, “this is Amelia,” he adds, squeezing one of the girl’s shoulders. “She got sorted in Ravenclaw, but she somehow missed the call to go to the Ravenclaw Tower. Can you show her the way?”

“Of course,” Max replies at once.

Alec turns to him almost in slow motion, quirking a dubious eyebrow at his brother’s eagerness.

Max doesn’t acknowledge him, but he rises to his feet and jumps over the table to join Magnus and Amelia on the other side.

“The rules are still the same this year,” Magnus deadpans with a roll of his eyes. “No jumping over the tables, Maxwell.”

Max shrugs dismissively. “It’s not my fault the tables are so long,” he mutters under his breath.

Magnus ignores him and turns to grab both of Amelia’s shoulders, who has been observing the exchange mutely from the side. “Maxwell here is in Ravenclaw too,” he tells her with a gentle smile. “He’ll take you to your common room and the Prefects will show you your dorm. Stay with him, okay?”

“Especially in the stairs,” Alec chimes in, popping a cherry in his mouth.

“Especially in the stairs,” Magnus allows with a small grimace.

Max chuckles at the poor girl’s frankly terrified expression and gives her his best amiable grin. “Come on,” he says. “They make it sound much scarier than it really is. It’s actually quite fun.”

Amelia seems to relax faintly, biting her lips as she allows a stiff nod. Alec follows them with his eyes until they’re out of the Great Hall.

“I’m really sorry,” he blurts out once they’re away from his sight, standing up to face Magnus. “About what I said, about Ravenclaw. I didn’t mean it. It’s just –“

“Alexander,” Magnus interrupts with a chuckle, “I can recognize a brotherly banter when I see one.”

Alec nods, his lips parting slightly as he releases a shaky breath. “Are you okay?” he asks.

Magnus frowns and for a second, he looks genuinely confused, but Alec can see right through it. The hurt is quite obvious in his eyes if you look closely enough – not that Alec is, of course.

“Of course,” he replies with a dismissive wave.

Alec sees the lie in the way his fingers tremble slightly, in the small twitch of his lips, in the faded hurt in his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. As much as injustice and bigotry anger him, there is nothing he could do or say to make it better for Magnus. This is his everyday life.

Alec was born a pure-blood in a society that praises them. He cannot begin to understand what Magnus had to endure to get where he is today.

So he keeps his mouth shut.

Magnus smiles at him, a forced, strained smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “I have to check that everything is going well with my house,” he says, “and then we have a meeting with the rest of the professors. I’ll see you later, Alexander.”

“It’s Alec,” he blurts out before Magnus can walk away. “No one calls me Alexander but my mother,” he adds in a rush to explain his outburst.

“Do you know what it means in Greek?” Magnus asks with a smirk. It’s clearly rhetorical, but Alec shakes his head anyway. “Defending men,” Magnus continues. “It’s fitting for the situation, don’t you think?”

Alec huffs out and shrugs. “I suppose.”

“Really, your parents should have guessed you’d go and become an Auror when they named you that. They can only blame themselves.”

Alec raises an eyebrow at him, eyeing him suspiciously. “How do you know they don’t approve?”

“Your sister,” Magnus replies with a small smile. “We’re friends, remember? Speaking of, you and I will have to talk soon to figure out why we haven’t met before.”

He throws Alec a wink and walks away without giving him a chance to answer. Alec is left with no other option than follow him with his eyes until he disappears out of the door of the Great Hall.

.

“Is it considered murder if they never find a body?”

Magnus chuckles and rolls his eyes, his back to Raphael as he pours them two glasses of firewhisky. He downs his own in one go before filling it again and turning to face his friend.

“You’re not murdering children,” Magnus tells him for what seems to be the hundredth time.

“But I can murder their parents,” he counters with a cutting grin, all teeth and deviousness.

Magnus slouches in the couch next to Raphael with a sigh and takes a long sip of his drink, reveling in the way it burns his throat and doesn’t allow him to focus on anything else.

“If you’re going to murder every prejudiced person in the country, you have some busy days ahead of you, darling.”

He empties his glass and groans at the sight of the bottle so far away. He grabs his wand and with a flick of his wrist, the bottle is flying in his hand and he is pouring himself another glass.

“Well, I can try,” Raphael retorts. “I’m going to have a lot of free time on my hands with the state of the team. I’ll start with the Whitelaws and go on with all the bigoted assholes in the Ministry of Magic.”

“If you’re going on a killing spree, please try to make Morgenstern suffer as much as possible,” Magnus comments absently.

Raphael snorts. “It would be my pleasure.”

“I’ll be happy to provide an alibi, then,” Magnus replies with a smirk. “I promise I’ll visit you in Azkaban if you get caught.”

He downs another glass and Raphael’s playful expression turns into a concerned one. He reaches out, clutching his shoulder not-so-gently.

“Slow down,” he advises, his voice much gentler than his grip.

“I’m not drunk enough yet,” Magnus grumbles as he pours himself yet another drink.

“Do we need to get drunk for something?” Raphael inquires, quirking an eyebrow dubiously.

“I do,” Magnus replies, leaving no room for negotiation.

“Mag-,” Raphael starts, but he cuts himself, a deep scowl bringing his brows together. “Hey,” he whispers, uncharacteristically soft, “are you okay?”

“It’s my first day back at work,” Magnus rushes out, like he needs to get the words out to realize it is real, “and I was humiliated by two… two  _ kids _ because of the blood that runs in my veins. Imogen was murdered in cold-blood for the same reasons. Three hundred and fifty-seven people were butchered for the same reasons. There are people out there who made direct threats against Simon and I for the same reasons. There are people who have never met me but  _ hate _ me for the same reasons.” He pauses, blinks and clenches his teeth. “No, Raphael,” he breathes out in a whisper. “I’m not okay.”

Magnus tries to ignore how Raphael’s grip tightens on his shoulder, or the way the lump in his throat seems to have permanently settled there. He tries to ignore how heavy his heart feels in his chest as it beats a little faster. But he can’t.

He downs another glass.

.

“You spent seven years here. I can’t believe you don’t remember your way through the castle!” Magnus quips as he guides Raphael through the corridors, a slight bounce in his steps.

He is feeling much better, now that the alcohol has burned away his every qualm.

“I haven’t been here in twelve years, Bane,” Raphael grumbles.

“I’m sure you’d find your way to the Quidditch pit easily, though,” Magnus snorts. “You’re such a Neanderthal.”

Raphael stops dead in his tracks. “A what?” heinquires skeptically.

“A Neanderthal,” Magnus insists, giving him a pointed look. Then, it strikes him and he rolls his eyes. “Never mind. It’s a Muggle expression.”

“Did you just insult me in Muggle?”

“I did,” Magnus admits with a proud smirk. He stops, pointing at the painting that leads to Raphael’s room.

“I hate you,” Raphael mumbles.

The painting is one of a medieval knight in full armor mounting a beautiful white horse. He’s not paying any attention to the two wizards in front of him, instead busying himself with gathering the horse’s mane in a multitude of braids.

“No you don’t,” Magnus retorts with a self-satisfied grin. 

“I should buy a pensieve so I can get rid of every memory I have of you,” Raphael snarls.

Magnus titters and leans forward to pat him on the cheek. “Ah, Raphael, my very own Dementor. You manage to suck the happiness out of everything.”

Raphael whacks his hand away. “Can I trust you to find your way back to your quarters or are you going to pass out in a corner of the castle?”

“Please,” Magnus scoffs conceitedly. “I would have to be very drunk –“

“Which you are,” Raphael cuts in, but Magnus ignores him.

“- not to know my way through this castle,” he finishes with a dismissive flourish.

“Whatever,” Raphael grumbles. “Good night, Magnus.”

“Good night, darling.”

Raphael rolls his eyes and turns to the painting. He has to repeat the password three times before the knight finally decides to listen to him and opens the door.

Magnus turns around and walks back towards the Ravenclaw Tower. His head is foggy and he is pretty sure he is not walking in a straight line at all, but it’s three in the morning and everyone is long asleep so it’s not like there’s anyone out there to judge him.

It’s not like he would care either way. He’s already being judged on a daily basis. Being completely smashed in Hogwarts’ corridors is something he wouldn’t mind being accused of, in comparison.

A few paintings groan at him for interrupting their sleep with the light emitting from his wand but he just gives them a contrite smile in answer, otherwise ignoring them.

He’s just turning in the corridor that leads to the Ravenclaw Tower when he is swept off his feet and unceremoniously slammed into the nearest wall, the tip of a wand cresting dangerously under his chin. He loses his breath for a second, a cold terror running through his veins and his heart skips a beat before it takes on a brisk rhythm that echoes in his temples.

And then, he recognizes his assailant.

“Alexander,” he breathes out. “Usually, I’m all for being pushed against a wall, but we’re sadly both wearing clothes and in a very public setting.”

Alec immediately takes a step back, snapping his hand away like the material of Magnus’ shirt has burnt him. A delicious blush spreads from his neck to his cheeks but he quickly recovers, shaking his head.

“What the hell are you doing here at almost four in the morning?” he blurts out accusingly.

“I was walking Raphael back to his room,” Magnus eludes with a nonchalant wave of his fingers. It turns out to be far slacker that it should be, lacking the grace Magnus is usually able to display. He blames the firewhisky entirely. “The poor thing doesn’t know his way around here yet.”

“It’s four in the morning,” Alec repeats bewilderedly.

“I know, you said that already.”

Alec frowns and leans forward slightly, taking an almost imperceptible step forward.

“You’re drunk,” he says, narrowing his eyes at Magnus.

“I may or may not have drank the equivalent of the Goblet of Fire in firewhisky,” Magnus quips with an unapologetic and sloppy grin, “but really, I’m fine. I was just getting back to my quarters. Actually, you should follow me there.”

“Magnus,” Alec groans in warning.

“As much as I’d love to engage in whatever you just had in mind, I meant it,” he retorts and if his lips pulls into an incredibly pleased smirk as he eyes the Auror up and down unabashedly, no one can blame him. “I need to show you something, Mister Head of the Aurors.”

“No funny business?” he inquires, squirting just one eye in a dubious expression.

“Not unless you want to,” Magnus replies with a teasing wink.

“No funny business,” Alec echoes sternly and gestures for him to lead the way.

Magnus heaves out an exaggerated sigh. “Such a shame,” he mutters dramatically.

.

The Ravenclaw Tower is exceptionally quiet at this time of the night. Alec follows Magnus up the stairs without a word, keeping a hand up in case he has to catch him mid-fall. He is not showing many signs of drunkenness apart from his even blunter than usual flirting, but Alec thinks the Muggle expression “better safe than sorry” is a wise one.

Magnus eventually stops in front of a gargoyle right beside the Ravenclaw common room.

“Glitter,” he announces joyfully and Alec snorts in spite of himself, shaking his head with amusement before he follows Magnus inside.

They go up a tight spiral staircase before they stumble into a wide room with graceful arched windows that bathe the walls in the dim light from the moon. There are bookcases in every corner, filled with so many books that Alec wonders if he would have to forcefully pull it out if he were to pick one.

The only wall emptied from books is the one that faces the higher windows and holds an imposing fireplace. It is scattered with various pictures from Magnus with diverse people. Alec recognizes almost everyone, makes a quick inventory in his head – Ragnor, Dr. Loss, their son whose name he doesn’t know, Raphael, Simon, Clary, even Isabelle – and at the sight of so many familiar faces, he can’t help but question indeed how it is possible that they have never met before.

His attention is pulled away from the pictures by Magnus who quickly gets rids of his robes and discards them neglectfully on the back of the navy blue couch facing the fireplace before he slouches still somewhat elegantly in an armchair of the same color.

Alec is not mentally prepared for the sight of Magnus’ outfit below his robes. The dark blue shirt he is wearing - perfectly matching the dyed tips in his dark hair - is just positively sinful or maybe it’s just the fact that it is barely buttoned and thus Alec has an unbeatable view of the dark skin beneath it, even with the several necklaces that surround his neck. He has to tell himself inwardly that it is tolerable to look. In the privacy of this room, he can at least look and admit to himself that Magnus is impossibly, undeniably, devilishly attractive. This is all this is and Alec will never act on it, but he has spent enough time lying in his life to remember not to lie to himself.

Still, he forces himself to look away.

It might be less his own will and more the way Magnus flickers his wrist that actually turns his eyes away from the exposed honeyed skin. His fingers travel in the air for a second, a graceful, perfectly controlled dance that is far more entrancing than should be legally permitted. A fire immediately catches out of the long-cold ashes of the fireplace and Alec’s mouth falls open.

“How do you do that?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

“Do what?” Magnus inquires with a genuinely confused frown. It makes his nose twitch a little.

“Magic without a wand. It’s not the first time I see you do it.”

Magnus smirks then, a slow, mischievous pull of his lips. “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Alec frowns, quirking an eyebrow. “You’re a teacher,” he deadpans. “Your job is to reveal your secrets.”

Magnus’ lips part in surprise for a second before he chuckles, shaking his head almost fondly. “Twice in the same night,” he mutters under his breath before adding, louder, “It’s a Muggle expression, Alexander,” he says, not unkindly.

“Oh,” Alec replies eloquently. “Um. You haven’t answered my question.”

“And I won’t,” Magnus retorts mirthfully. “Not tonight. This is not why I asked you to follow me here.”

He rises to his feet and Alec follows with his eyes as he swirls across the room. It is very unfair that he manages to move with such ease and grace when the empty bottle of firewhisky at the bottom of the couch is proof enough of his advanced inebriety. Alec would love to be a graceful drunk but he is the furthest thing possible from it.

“Why then?” he asks.

“I want to give you something.”

Magnus stops in front of the ebony desk by the window and taps twice with two fingers on a drawer. It opens with a slight creak.

“Actually, it’s more of a loan,” he says absently as he rummages inside before letting out a triumphant squeal, whirling around to face Alec again. “I’ll want it back when you leave.”

Alec is still standing in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do with himself and Magnus seems to notice because he chuckles.

“Alexander, please sit down,” he offers, gesturing to the couch.

Alec obliges, putting both of his hands on his knees. Magnus doesn’t seem overly satisfied by his reaction, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, he holds out the worn piece of parchment to Alec, a soft smile on his lips. Alec takes it and stares at the blank page in utter puzzlement.

“I can’t have you assaulting me every time I wander in the castle,” he says in lieu of an explanation.

It doesn’t quench Alec’s confusion at all and he lets it show in the deep scowl on his face. Magnus chuckles and goes to sit next to him, keeping a reasonable distance between them.

He leans forward slightly and takes his wand from the pocket of his discarded robes still hanging at the back of the couch.

Magnus taps it once on the parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he recites dutifully.

Alec watches in awe as the parchment seems to suddenly come alive, the blank page filling with writings and drawing, the ink flowing gracefully on the paper until it eventually stops and Alec is faced with a map. A map of Hogwarts.

“See there?” Magnus says as he leans even closer to point at one particular area of the map. “That’s us.”

And indeed, their names seem to be floating on the paper, hovering close, but never touching and Alec is suddenly very aware of Magnus’ proximity. He doesn’t move, though, letting his eyes wander over the map.

“This is the Marauder’s Map,” Magnus informs him. “It will reveal you all of Hogwarts: classrooms, hallways, every single corner. Including the secret passages. It will be more useful to you than it is to me for the time being.”

“Thank you,” Alec says sincerely. “This will make our patrols much easier.”

Magnus nods. He looks pensive, miles away from Hogwarts. There’s a haunted glow in his gaze, a dark, eerie flicker that make his eyes look older, like they have seen too much. Alec doesn’t doubt that they have. And then, Magnus shakes his head and the spark is gone, replaced by a cheerful smile.

“Don’t let it fall into the wrong hands,” he utters playfully.

“It was in your hands,” Alec taunts, because he feels unexpectedly bold. “Can it really be more dangerous than that?”

Magnus seems surprised by Alec’s repartee – but he can’t be as surprised as Alec himself. It seems to be a pleasant surprise, though, because his lips pull into a delighted grin.

“My hands can be dangerous, but I can assure you they can also be very gentle,” he retorts teasingly.

Alec blushes, curses inwardly and clears his throat to gain back his composure, all in a matter of seconds.

“I’ll keep it safe,” he replies, wisely choosing to ignore the flirtatious undertone of Magnus’ words.

“Please,” Magnus asserts. “I wouldn’t want Raphael’s groupies to follow him around in the castle.” He blinks, makes a show of thinking about it before he adds, “Actually, it might be funny.”

Alec chuckles softly, looking down at Lydia’s name moving across the map from the other side of the castle where she is patrolling.

“He does seem to have a few fans,” he allows.

Magnus snorts and Alec is struck with the realization that this is probably the most inelegant thing he’s ever seen him do.

“Only because he plays a stupid sport in a famous team,” he grumbles, but it is softened by an undeniable affection. “I’ve been his friend for years. I know him enough to advise anyone against choosing him as a role model.”

Alec is about to answer something about athletes being incredible role models for kids because of their way of life and everything they can inspire, but he ponders on the words that just came out of Magnus’ mouth and he freezes, a look of pure shock taking over his features.

“Y-You don’t like Quidditch?” he stutters, the mere thought making him lose his ability to speech – which is, admittedly, never really high.

“I despise it,” Magnus admits easily, slouching nonchalantly in the opposite corner of the couch like there is nothing wrong with what he just said.

But  _ everything _ is wrong with what he just said.

“What?” Alec exclaims before he can stop himself.

“I don’t like Quidditch,” Magnus repeats, dragging the words out like he is wondering if Alec has heard him at all.

Alec has heard perfectly and he is positively  _ appalled _ . 

“W-What?” he stutters, eyes wide with bewilderment. “How? Why?”

Magnus shrugs dismissively but Alec doesn’t deflate, instead staring at him in awe.

Eventually, he sighs and pouts a little. “It’s a brutal and obnoxious sport,” he explains grudgingly. “And it’s not fair! One-hundred and fifty points to whoever catches the Golden Snitch?” He scoffs indignantly just when Alec is about to do the same. “It’s inequitable.”

“That’s what makes it exciting!” Alec protests, unable to keep his voice down.

“It makes it ridiculous,” Magnus insists.

“W-What?” he blurts out once more. “Magnus, you can’t be serious.”

“I am very serious,” Magnus asserts gravely. “I don’t like Quidditch.”

“But you were at the game!” Alec exclaims accusingly.

“Because I made a drunken promise to Raphael that I’d come to see one of his games and I don’t make promises I don’t keep, even drunk.”

“No,” Alec declares vehemently. “Just. No. I can’t let you talk about Quidditch like that. No.” He shakes his head to emphasize his words.

Magnus smirks, a devious spark shining in his mesmerizing eyes. “Really?” he mutters temptingly. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I’m going to educate you,” Alec pledges with all the verve of a passionate man, “and you’re going to learn to like it because I can’t let you go on with this crazy mindset.”

“Alexander,” Magnus says gently, “don’t bother. I’m a lost cause.”

Alec shakes his head again. “Nope. No excuses.”

Magnus huffs out a dramatic sigh, but there is a small smile tugging at his lips, no trace of the previous hurt in his eyes. It fills Alec with a sense of satisfaction that he pushes away hastily.

“You don’t know what you’re getting into,” he snorts. “You won’t be the first one to try.”

“That’s alright. I love a challenge,” Alec professes with assurance.

Magnus smirks again. “Is that so?” he drawls, eyes scanning Alec up and down shamelessly. “We seem to have at least that in common.”

Alec fights back a blush. “I should go,” he blurts out. “I have to meet with Lydia to debrief on the patrols and show her the map.”

“Of course,” Magnus says and just like that, the smile is gone from his eyes, although it stays on his lips. He leans forward and taps his wand on the map again. “Mischief managed.”

The map is back to a blank piece of parchment in a matter of seconds. 

“I assume you know your way down?” Magnus inquires with a suggestive smirk. “I’ll be happy to show you if you don’t.”

Alec throws him a pointed glare but he chuckles, somehow already familiar with the flirtatious teasing. His mind goes back to the evening, before the feast, and how Magnus had looked redoubtable when the Whitelaws twins had refused to let him even touch them. He wonders how many faces Magnus possesses and what would happen if he were to learn them all.

“I’m sorry you have to go through this,” he mutters before he can stop himself.

Magnus frowns, genuinely confused. Alec doesn’t blame him, it’s not like he’s very clear in his words.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about, darling.”

His breath hitches in his throat at the pet name but Alec doesn’t let it show, his brows pulled into a sincere scowl.

“The Whitelaws kids and the Children of Merlin and all that bullshit that you have to hear every day,” he eventually explains. “About you being a lesser person because of how you were born.”

Magnus stays silent for a while, toying with his rings in a gesture that Alec would deem nervous if he hadn’t seen the fierceness with which the man holds himself.

“It’s alright,” he says eventually. “I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be,” Alec retorts at once. “You shouldn’t have to be used to prejudice. Just like the Whitelaws kids shouldn’t be so full of hate and narrow-minded at their age. I don’t know how you kept your calm in front of them.”

He knows he sounds angry, but he can’t help himself.

Magnus smiles at him, a small, barely there smile and he reaches out, laying a hand on Alec’s forearm. “Hatred isn’t intuitive, it’s taught. I don’t blame the Whitelaws for the way they were brought up. They had no saying in it.”

“You do realize that’s exactly what they reproach you, right?” Alec can’t help but reply, turning his head to cast a wrathful glance at him.

“And I wouldn’t be much better than they are if I did the same thing, would I?” Magnus counters.

His tone bears the weight of years of prejudice, of racist comments that he learned to ignore, of bigotry that he has had to face. Despite the obvious aspiration of the words, it doesn’t help smother Alec’s anger.

“Maybe you don’t have to be better,” he offers unwisely. “Maybe you should just tell them all to fuck off.”

Magnus laughs, a sound that seems to surprise him as much as it does Alec.

“That sounds like a wonderful dream, darling,” he says and Alec is left speechless, the words settling in his mind and taking permanent residence there.

This is something he wants to remember. Something he  _ needs  _ to remember.

“I hope someday it won’t be one anymore,” he admits as he rises to his feet, suddenly eager to flee the heavy atmosphere of the room.

“Me too, darling,” Magnus murmurs, eyes lost into a void that Alec can’t begin to comprehend.

He stops right there for a moment, wondering if he should say something else, but there isn’t much he can say in that moment that would make Magnus feel better. If he had to drink an entire bottle of firewhisky to forget about the dreadful past days, he isn’t sure there is any way for him to make Magnus feel better.

“Good night, Magnus,” he thus mutters, wishing he could say something else, something better, meaningful, comforting.

“Good night, Alexander,” Magnus replies absently but he doesn’t look up.

Alec rushes down the spiral staircase with his heart in his throat and a mission in his mind: to be better.            

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave kudos and comments to save a unicorn.
> 
> This was beta'd by the magical [Roja](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit)
> 
> All the love, ❤  
> L.


	5. if you want to know what a man's like, take a good look at how he treats his inferiors, not his equals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> Expect more politics in this chapter. I'm not going to pretend that I'm sorry, though.
> 
> In this chapter: Alec loses something but eventually wins something else. ;)
> 
> PS: If you're live-tweeting, don't forget to either use the #lecrit hashtag or to tag [me](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).

Alec is losing and as much as he turns his brain upside down, he can’t find a way out of the tricky situation he put himself in. The fire crackling in the fireplace next to him is oddly distracting and he can’t seem to focus, which is all the more frustrating. This is logic and Alec is nothing if not a logical person. He thrives on his ability to relate on his brain and nothing else. He is patient, too, and in spite of these indispensable qualities, he can only admit that even with all his attempts at planning ahead and picturing all the moves that could get him out of this, he is stuck.

His intuitions have failed him and he is impossibly aggravated at his inability to focus entirely on the chessboard in front of him. The smug smirk on Simon’s face, even though he does his best to pointedly ignore it, is not helping.

No matter how many moves he can enumerate in his head, they all end up with him being check.

This is where him and Simon always clash when they play together. Alec is all logic, finding the most rational way to win as quickly as possible. Simon is more creative and he plays wizard’s chess in an almost artistic way.

Alec is always delighted when he wins against Simon because it’s always at the end of a long and exciting chase. It is no less thriving when he loses because it is the best way he can learn from his mistakes. If he doesn’t repeat mistakes he’s made before, he knows he is improving and things are going to be much better the next time around.

Alec blows out a deep sigh anyway, just for good measure.

“Knight to E5,” he grumbles.

Simon positively beams and Alec has to repress a petulant groan as he announces checkmate cheerfully. His king goes flying as Simon’s queen dissembles it with a strong hit of her sword.

“You’re usually harder to beat,” Simon says as he puts the chessboard away, not unkindly.

Alec shrugs dismissively. “Maybe you just sucked less than usual.”

Simon throws him a pointed glare. “Maybe you sucked more than usual,” he retorts, a wide grin spreading on his lips.

“I was just distracted,” Alec eventually admits with a frown.

“About?” Simon asks, raising an eyebrow inquisitively.

Alec follows him with his eyes as his friend stands to cross the room, getting two Muggle beers out of nowhere. Alec used to hate Muggle alcohol, but then Simon introduced him to beer and wine and he has to admit that he doesn’t mind it as much anymore. He actually enjoys it more than he does butterbeer, which is far too sweet for his taste.

If he’s reluctant to admit it, it’s not because it is a Muggle drink, it’s just that Simon gets overly excited every time he manages to convince Alec to try out something from his world and it’s exhausting.

“Did you know Magnus doesn’t like Quidditch?” he blurts out before he can stop himself.

Simon startles and turns around to face Alec. At first, he just looks surprised, an eyebrow curved in puzzlement, but then, leisurely and traitorously, a slow grin grows on his lips and he bites his lower lip in an obvious attempt at hiding it.

Alec rolls his eyes so hard he thinks he might see the entirety of his neuronal connections if he tries any harder.

Simon holds him out a beer before dropping unceremoniously in the armchair in front of him, taking a long sip.

“Yeah,” he says. “I did. Everyone who knows Magnus knows that.”

“What’s wrong with him?” Alec inquires bluntly, eyes wide in disbelief.

Simon chuckles and shrugs. “Don’t tell him I told you, but I think he just doesn’t understand the rules.”

“Oh,” Alec breathes out. “Yeah, that makes sense.”

The silence sits between them for a while. Alec is perfectly content with it, sipping his beer and enjoying the peaceful crackling sounds emitting from the fireplace.

Of course, because it is Simon and Simon can never shut up for too long – to Alec’s great disarray – he eventually needs to say something, and cuts short Alec’s peace of mind. Alec sometimes – often – wonders what sheer folly took over him when he decided all these years ago that being friends with an overly talkative Hufflepuff was a good idea.

“How is Jace, by the way?”

Maybe that answers his inward question. Simon might be infuriating half of the time and he may have a big mouth, but he makes up for it with a heart twice as large.

“He’s alright,” he says. “He sent me an owl this morning asking me if it would speed up his recovery if he tried to mix up his potions. Which means he’s back to his idiotic self so I’d say he’s good.”

Simon chuckled, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like him,” he muttered tauntingly.

Alec is about to answer when a loud knock makes them both jump and Simon rushes to his feet to open the front door. Lydia bursts into the room without preamble, Isabelle right behind her. The deep frown on both their faces forces Alec to his feet.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, already on full Auror mode, shoulders tensed and mind sharp.

“Luke is here, up in the Headmaster’s office,” Lydia informs them. “He summoned us.”

Alec nods, absently tightening his hold on his wand. “What’s going on?”

“We don’t know either, come on,” Isabelle says, hooking her arm with his to drag him in the corridors of the castle.

Simon grabs his wand and follows them hastily, half-running to trail after them. Alec doesn’t slow down, though, and soon they stumble in Tessa’s office. All his senses are on high alert and he almost expects to have to fight as soon as he steps inside.

Whatever he was foreseeing, it wasn’t the silence that surrounds the room. Tessa is standing by the window, her back to them, arms crossed over her chest. Luke is not far from her, leaning against the iron handrail of the stairs that lead to the headmaster’s quarters. His brow is furrowed in an expression that Alec has learned to know too well in the years he has been working under Luke’s supervision. He knows it means nothing good.

Magnus is sitting in the velvet armchair behind the desk that should be Tessa’s, his eyes lost into space. He is fidgeting nervously with the rings on his fingers and he doesn’t even look up when Alec and the others come in. Raphael is standing next to him, looking like he is trying to Avada Kedavra everyone in the room with his eyes. Clary is sitting in front of him, Hodge Starkweather, the professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts at her side.

“What’s going on?” Alec asks gravely, tearing his gaze away from the worried faces in the room to stare straight at Luke.

Luke huffs out a heavy sigh and runs a hand through his tired features.

“Minister Pond is calling for an emergency meeting this afternoon,” Luke says.

“Regarding?” Alec inquires.

“An attack against the Muggle department of the Ministry of Magic was foiled last night,” he eludes carefully.

Maia barges in the office before he can go on, a heavy file in her hands and she strides the room straight to Luke to hand it to him. Two other Aurors are following her. 

“A employee of the Ministry tried to break in,” Luke continues, while he opens the file, his eyes scanning the pages rapidly. “He was stopped before he could set off the explosive device he was carrying.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Lydia chimes in with a puzzled frown. “We can interrogate him. It’s the closest lead we’ve had so far.”

“Yeah, we would have loved to interrogate him,” Luke replies sternly. “Except he tried to fight off the people who stopped him. One of them was Ragnor Fell, one of Raphael and Magnus’ close friends. Ragnor managed to slow him down. He was hurt in the process and he is still in St. Mungo’s as we speak but according to the medi-wizards, he’ll be okay.”

Alec casts a cautious look at Magnus, whose face is completely closed off. He still doesn’t glance up but his fingers twitch almost imperceptibly and Alec knows he is listening.

“The suspect was killed by Aria,” Luke continues, tone heavy with an almost defeated edge to it. “According to her report,” he adds, holding up the file in his hands, “she had no other choice.”

Aria is one of their latest recruits. She just got out of formation and she hasn’t even been on the field yet. She is as happy-go-lucky as they come, always strolling the corridors of the Auror Department with an enthusiasm that is almost infuriating, whistling under her breath. She is barely twenty-two and he knows her innocence has now been tarnished forever.

Alec remembers his first kill far too vividly and it was two years ago.

Unlike, Aria, it hadn’t been his first mission. He had already been an Auror for a couple of years and he had been on the field before. He had been with Lydia that night. It was their turn to take the night shift and at the time, Alec still loved being in the office at night. It was always empty apart from the other Auror team on duty. It was usually quiet and it gave him and Lydia the opportunity to catch up on their paperwork.

That night, no paperwork was done. They had received the emergency fire message at around two in the morning. It was supposed to be a routine check-up. A few neighbors had been complaining about a man causing chaos in their street and Alec and Lydia had both thought they would just find there a drunkard that they would let out after a night in one of their cells.

They had been miles away from the truth.

The wizard had clearly been on a mission to wreck havoc and spread death in his path. He was clearly insane. They tried to stop him peacefully but the man had been determinate to end this in flames and chaos. Alec doesn’t remember much after his third warning. He remembers Lydia getting hurt, hit straight in the stomach by one of the man’s spells. Everything after that is a complete blurs. He remembers thinking he had no other choice and the sound of the man’s body when he had fallen to the ground, dead. He remembers watching his eyes blanking as the life left them.

Alec remembers his name. He has the peculiar dark brown shade of his eyes carved into his mind ever since, and has never been able to get rid of it.

Alec knows you never forget the first time you kill someone. He was barely two years older than Aria when it happened and it’s still haunting him when he isn’t vigilant about guarding his mind away from distractions.

Speaking of, Alec pushes the thoughts away and stands straighter on his feet, looking directly at Luke.

“Do we know anything about the suspect?”

“Yeah,” Luke sighs. “We do.”

He drops the open file on the desk. Magnus flinches away, barely perceptible, and leans further into the armchair. Alec is not the only one to notice because Raphael steps closer to him and leans a protective hand at the back of his seat.

Alec moves to stand over the desk, glances down at the file, scans the picture of the dead body under his eyes and his breath catches in his throat.

“Nicolas,” Isabelle breathes out next to him.

Her eyes are as wide as his own surely are.

Nicolas Shaw is – was, Alec has to correct himself – twenty-four, just like Isabelle. He was in the same year as Isabelle. If he remembers correctly, he even thinks they dated for a few months during their fifth year. Alec had spent his seventh year at Hogwarts working relentlessly to get into the Auror formation so he hadn’t followed his little sister’s life as attentively as usual, but Isabelle always made a point of telling him everything. She had pulled him out of the library for some siblings time with Jace more times than he could count.

He remembers the time when her and Nicolas dated. She had been happy with him. He had treated her well. Alec had approved.

And now, Nicolas is dead. And he was part of a terrorist organisation.

Alec doesn’t know how to deal with this.

He remembers a nice and quiet kid, Gryffindor’s heartthrob, Keeper of the Quidditch team, hard-worker and insanely good on the field until a bad injury had forced him away from the pits. Nicolas was a normal kid. Alec has never heard him say anything about purity of blood. It can’t be real.

And yet, there is no mistaking the inert face in the picture, the snow-white skin and disheveled brown hair.

“We knew him,” Alec says eventually, his eyes never leaving the picture.

“I feel sick,” Isabelle whispers next to him, just loud enough for him to be the only one to hear.

He shifts to stand closer to her, his arm brushing against hers and she unwinds slightly, but her eyes remain dark and unfocused.

“I know,” Luke says and something flashes in his eyes for a second. “His family has been friends with yours for a long time. It’s a close circle of pureblood families.”

Isabelle understands the meaning behind his words exactly at the same moment he does and she gasps quietly next to him.

“What are you saying, Sir?” Alec grits out through clenched teeth. “Am I a suspect now? Are my siblings?”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Luke says softly. “I didn’t mean you.”

“No, you meant our parents,” Alec retorts, his lips pulled into a thin line.

Alec is not one to be fooled about his parents. He knows how old-fashioned they can be, to say the least. He knows about their alliance with Valentine Morgenstern when he had set it upon himself to get the wizarding world rid of the Muggle-borns. He has had arguments with them about their outdated values more often than he can count. So have Izzy and Jace.

But that doesn’t mean they are terrorists who can murder over three hundred and fifty people in cold blood.

“Yes.”

Alec has to resist the urge to cringe at Luke’s blunt honesty.

The rest of the room has fallen silent. Next to him, Isabelle is utterly immobile, shock still written all over her face. Tessa is now facing them from her spot by the window. Magnus has finally looked up and he is glancing between Luke and Alec, his face completely impassible but his eyes sharp and decided. Simon and Clary are standing a few steps away from them and they are both looking everywhere but at Alec and his sister.

He feels utterly alone.

“Sir,” he breathes out, “I’m the first one to admit that our parents are not perfect and I know how their involvement with Valentine Morgenstern must look right now –”

“They’ve changed,” Isabelle cuts in abruptly, finally breaking out of her trance. She reaches out to close the file on the desk, hiding the stone cold face of her ex-boyfriend from their sight.

“They didn’t seem to have changed that much when they agreed with Sebastian Morgenstern to have Simon and I removed from our positions because it would supposedly soften the Children of Merlin’s motivation,” Magnus says grimly.

His tone is as cold as his features and he looks a lot like he did a week ago when the Whitelaw kids refused to let him touch them.

“We know our parents,” Alec retorts just as frigidly. “Hell, I know from personal experience they’re not the best people around but they’re not murderers.”

“The people we think we know the most are also the one who can disappoint us the most.”

Alec has a repartee at the tip of his tongue but he catches the haunted flicker in Magnus’ gaze, the one that keeps coming back and disappearing just as quickly, and he falls silent.

“I’m not saying they are guilty,” Magnus continues patiently.

“No one is accusing anyone yet,” Luke cuts in sternly. “And your family isn’t the only one on the suspect lists.”

“Who else is on this list?” Simon asks. His voice sounds distant, hollow and it’s the first time Alec realizes that Simon is more affected by all of this than he lets on.

Simon is so cheerful all the time, so enthusiastic about the simplest, silliest things, that it’s easy to forget that he is not infallible.

“The Shaws, obviously,” Luke says, pointing vaguely at the closed file on the desk. “The Morgensterns –“

Magnus scoffs. “I’d hope so. If anyone is capable of this, it’s Sebastian.”

“He has an alibi for the night of the game,” Lydia cuts in in her best professional voice. “And a solid one.”

Magnus levels her with a dubious look, an eyebrow raised in defiance. “Because you think Sebastian Morgenstern would do the dirty work himself?” he scoffs indignantly. “Have you met the guy?”

“No, I haven’t,” Lydia replies, because she was never one to understand rhetorical questions. She is too pragmatic for that and it’s something that usually never fails to amuse Alec (not that he is any better, but a little hypocrisy has never hurt anyone).

Magnus seems surprised for a second by her answer, but leisurely, inch-by-inch, a slow grin grows on his lips and he bites his lower lip in an obvious attempt at stifling a laugh. It makes him look younger than he is, his eyes shining with malice and Alec thinks it’s a much better look on him than the miserable one he keeps catching whenever Magnus thinks no one is watching.

“Anyway,” Luke chimes in, rolling his eyes. “The Morgensterns, the Montclaires, the Verlacs, the Pontmercys and the Whitelaws.”

“Fucking Whitelaws,” Raphael mumbles under his breath.

Magnus tuts and reaches out to slap Raphael’s hand where it is still tugged on the back of the chair. Raphael mumbles another curse and something else that makes Magnus smirk.

“What’s the plan of action?” Alec asks sternly, tearing his gaze away from the man.

“You’re coming to the meeting with us because Magnus is too and he needs extra protection after what happened to Imogen,” Luke replies with a tone that leaves no room for negotiation – not that Alec would try to question his orders –, “but otherwise, you’re staying here.”

“What?” Alec blurts out. “But –“

“You can keep an eye on the main investigation from here,” Luke says firmly, holding a hand up to shut him up.

Alec sighs but nods.

“We should go,” Tessa chimes in out of the blue. She has her back to them again, her blue-grey eyes settled on the Great Lake spreading far beneath their feet. “Hodge, Clary, Simon, the school is in your hands while we’re gone.”

Alec picks up the file on the desk and opens it.

He doesn’t know why he almost expects Nicolas Shaw to open his eyes. But the picture remains immobile and his eyes stayed closed.

He remembers Nicolas Shaw. He remembers the sweet, nice and popular kid he was.

But he can’t bring himself to feel sorry for him.

.

Once more, Magnus finds himself sitting in the amphitheater of the Ministry of Magic, Tanya Pond standing on the platform to his right side, making a speech about not caving in the face of terrorism. It only happened once before, but Magnus is already sick of the  _ déjà-vu _ .

Although if he really thinks about it, it is nothing like the last time he was here.

For starters, instead of Imogen, it is Tessa who is sitting on his right and where Ragnor usually sits - always, at every never-ending meeting he attends here - is Alec. It’s not that his presence here is unwanted, because Magnus is always more than happy to have the opportunity to look at Alec, no matter the circumstances. But just this once, he wishes Ragnor was here instead, even though Ragnor is definitely not as pleasant to look at as Alec is, especially when he holds himself like he is now, his whole posture screaming of the fighter he is inside.

On the other side of the amphitheater sits, as usual, Luke and right beneath him Sebastian Morgenstern. Magnus doesn’t even cast a second glance his way. He doesn’t want to waste a drop of his attention on him. Sebastian isn’t worthy of that consideration.

Maryse and Robert Lightwood are there too, in their usual seats, and they barely acknowledged their son’s presence when they came in, greeting him with cold nods that Alec reciprocated warily, like he was afraid the slightest movement would anger them. Magnus doesn’t ask.

To his surprise, he spots another familiar face, hidden in a corner of the room, on the single chair veiled by the shadows.

Aline Penhallow is a small woman, with curved cheekbones that make her frequent smiles look impossibly wider and round almond-shaped eyes of a rare dark brown shade that seems almost black. Her straight dark hair falls on her shoulders elegantly. She is as strikingly beautiful as Magnus remembers her, a peculiar beauty that comes partly from her physical appearance and partly from her scintillating personality.

Aline was in her seventh year when Magnus started teaching at Hogwarts and he remembers her well, how kind she was with younger students, how clever she had been in his classes. She is only twenty-one but she has always been smart for her age and if he is surprised to see her here, it’s not because she doesn’t belong, it’s because she is a journalist and journalists are never welcomed in these meetings.

But apparently, times are changing all around him so rapidly that he can’t keep up.

The first part of the meeting consists in Luke repeating what he already told them earlier at Hogwarts and Magnus considers tuning off completely until he reminds himself that Ragnor won’t be here to sum it up for him at the end. So he listens and he takes notes, but it is more in order to have something to do with his hands than because he needs to keep a written evidence.

Luke doesn’t name the families like he did in the safety of Tessa’s office, but when he mentions Nicolas Shaw’s name, Magnus can see the Lightwoods tense at the corner of his eye. Luke seems to notice too because he looks to the side at them for a second before he focuses again on Tanya and goes on.

When they drift to other subjects, mainly Gringotts’ protection, Alec nearly dozes off, his head leaning on his closed fist and Magnus has to refrain an amused scoff.

Magnus elbows him discreetly when Tanya straightens on her feet and he can feel the atmosphere shift in the room. Alec startles a little and casts a worried look over the room, but no one seemed to notice his momentary absence.

“Are these things always so boring?” he whispers, turning his head to glance directly at Magnus.

“Most of the time, it’s worse,” Magnus answers on the same tone. “Wait until Morgenstern opens his mouth and you won’t be bored anymore. You’ll be angry instead.”

“That guy screams of arrogance, I want to smack him,” Alec replies with a small smirk. “Like, no wand, no magic. Just smack him right in the face.”

“I wouldn’t try to stop you, darling,” Magnus scoffs.

Alec smiles, a mischievous spark dancing in his eyes that makes him look too much like Max and Isabelle. It also makes him look unbelievably hot, probably partly because the guy he is ready to fight off right now is one of the men Magnus hates the most in the world and Magnus has to remind himself that this is not the appropriate place for innuendos and flirting that would most certainly make Alec’s cheeks flush adorably.

“It has come to my attention,” Tanya’s voice booms into the room and Magnus tears his gaze away from the hazelnut ones to turn back to her, “that the media learned about last night’s events. This is why Aline Penhallow has been allowed to attend this meeting.”

She pauses, gesturing vaguely at Aline, who is scribbling furiously on a notebook from her seat in the shadows. She looks up, nods absently at the room and turns back to her notes.

“We don’t want everything and anything to be broadcasted,” Tanya continues. “Especially not lies that would worry the population any further. Miss Penhallow is here because if the media is going to get involved, we need them to be reliable on what they let out to the public.”

“What exactly are these lies that would worry the population?” Sebastian drawls, cutting through the otherwise silent room like a guillotine blade. “That they are in danger? But they are, aren’t they?”

Tanya levels him with an unimpressed look. “We are doing our best to protect them. The foiled attack from last night proved that.”

“The attack from last night was only foiled because Ragnor Fell was going down to the Muggle Department to drop a file and realized there was something sketchy about Nicolas Shaw,” Sebastian counters, his lips twitching up scornfully.

“And the attack was prevented,” Tanya replies, utterly composed.

“Not by Aurors,” Sebastian says. “Clearly, there is a flaw in our security. If the Ministry of Magic is the best-protected place in the wizarding world and a man can come in charged with explosives, it seems to me like it isn’t that well-protected.”

“The attack came from the inside,” Luke cuts in coldly. “Nicolas Shaw was an employee of the Ministry. We don’t know enough about the Children of Merlin yet to be prepared for this eventuality.”

“Which is clearly what I’m trying to address here,” Morgenstern replies, his lips twitching with the beginning of a devious smirk. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Do you have any insight that we might not have, Morgenstern?” Magnus butts in, not bothering to conceal the disdain in his voice. “Maybe you have some information about the Children of Merlin that you’d like to share with the Council.”

Sebastian gives him a pointed glare and he looks almost amused for a second before he leans forward, entwining his hands together. “If I had, I would have shared it already, Bane,” he retorts. “I’m just concerned about the efficiency of our Auror Department in regards of the recent events.”

“The Auror Department is perfectly functional,” Alec chimes in, his voice cutting through like a knife, his eyes boring straight into Sebastian’s. “We have received reinforcement from France, Germany and Belgium to face the current threats. Our troops are well-trained and fully prepared to do whatever needs to be done to protect Muggle-borns as well as any other wizards. Our information service is already monitoring a few suspects. We are still working on the evidence gathered from the first attack and Imogen Herondale’s murder.”

He looks powerful, every bit like the leader that Luke believes him to be and Magnus can only agree now. His voice is strong and irrevocable, his jaw twitching slightly with annoyance.

“We are doing the best we can,” he goes on. “And our best might not always be enough, but you can’t impute us the responsibility of last night’s events. If responsibility has to be given, put it on the so-called Children of Merlin.”

Alec is panting slightly when he finally stops talking and he hides his hands behind his desk to conceal his fists balled with anger. His jaw is squared, though, and it belies his true feelings but Magnus knows he can only see it because he is sitting close enough.

The silence that follows his courteous but powerful outburst stretches for a while, enough so that Magnus has all the time to feel Alec tense up next to him. It is obvious that he isn’t used to having the whole attention of a room set on him – and Magnus thinks it is a shame, really, because he doesn’t see how anyone could think Alec is not worth being seen first and wholly focused on.

Sebastian is leveling him with a murderous glare and Magnus has to cover a grin behind his hand, lowering his hand to doodle on his notebook to mask his mirth.

“And you are?” Sebastian growls.

“Alec Lightwood,” he says firmly, holding his gaze without blinking.

“Alec is in charge of Hogwarts’ protection,” Luke chimes in. The obvious pride in his tone makes Magnus smirk.

“Looks to me like he’s more like Bane’s bodyguard,” Sebastian retorts maliciously.

“If you think Magnus Bane needs a bodyguard, you clearly haven’t been paying attention,” Alec growls, low and menacing and Magnus has to summon all of his self-control not to let the bewilderment show on his face.

Sebastian smirks and he is about to reply, probably something wicked and nasty but put out cleverly enough that it only sounds shrewd and rational, but he doesn’t get a chance to. Magnus votes inwardly for people to always interrupt him so he can never open his spiteful mouth again.

“After what happened to Imogen Herondale, I’m sure we can all agree that Mr. Bane does need a bodyguard,“ another voice says coldly and this time, Magnus can’t hide the baffled look that flashes on his face as he recognizes its owner. “Imogen was one of the best witches I’ve met in my life and they managed to kill her. I am well aware that Mr. Bane is more than capable with a wand or he wouldn’t be teaching at Hogwarts, but his life is still in danger.”

Robert Lightwood is a stern-looking man in normal circumstances, but right now he just looks fierce. His black eyes are pitiless and he seems to be tearing Morgenstern apart by the sheer force of his gaze.

Next to Magnus, Alec straightens in his seat, just faintly enough for Magnus to notice. 

“I don’t think my safety is today’s main topic,” he says when he is certain his voice won’t fail him.

“Once again, your safety is linked to the safety of Hogwarts,” Sebastian retorts. “And if the castle is as well protected as the Ministry of Magic supposedly is, I don’t give Hogwarts much of a chance.”

“Are you going there again, Morgenstern?” Magnus replies coldly.

“I still think it would be safer for you and Mr. Lewis to be removed from your functions temporarily.”

“Enough,” Tanya booms with a finality that has Magnus’ repartee die in his throat. “We had that debate already and a decision has already been taken on that matter. As for your concerns about the Auror Department, Mr. Morgenstern, I have to second everything Mr. Lightwood just said. Mr. Garroway and his strength are doing the best they can and most of them haven’t even had a day off since the first attack. I think we should be grateful for their hard work rather than questioning their efficiency regarding an attempted attack that was thankfully stopped before any victim could be accounted. And Nicolas Shaw might have been slowed down by Ragnor Fell, but he was ultimately stopped by an Auror, not some random bypasser. Check your facts before you throw accusations, Mr. Morgenstern.”

Sebastian goes to argue but she stops him with a glare. He huffs out and crosses his arms over his desk, looking every bit like the petulant child Magnus knows him to be.

“Now if you’re done bickering, maybe we can go back to the main topic of this meeting and that is last night’s events,” Tanya continues, ignoring Sebastian completely.

Just as she is about to go on, the doors to the amphitheater open in a clamor. Alec is on his feet in a second, wand held tight in his hand and so does Luke. It is the only reason why Magnus gets his own wand out. There’s the distinct sound of approaching steps and the room falls utterly silent as Ragnor comes in.

The relief that pours through Magnus as he sees his friend is so overwhelming that he has to slouch on his seat to prevent his body from just collapsing.

His left arm and shoulder are tugged in a sling and a nasty bruise is coloring his eye. He is limping slightly, but he is standing, and this is more reassurance than Magnus could have hoped for.

He doesn’t expect the explosion of feelings that surges through him, making his breath hitch in his throat. He has to summon every bit of his self-restraint not to run down the steps and pull Ragnor into a hug.

Alec must be feeling his trepidation because he reaches out to wrap his fingers around Magnus’ wrist. It’s a small touch, but he is holding him just tightly enough to provide a distraction and it gives Magnus the incentive he needed to pull himself back together. He lets out a shallow breath.

Magnus wonders when he started getting used to that constant dread that runs through his veins and has taken permanent residence in the back of his mind. That awful feeling that his friends are going to be taken away from him.

Seeing Ragnor here, standing and alive, means more than he can comprehend.

It is a small victory but he lets himself thrive in the knowledge that this time around, the Children of Merlin have failed.

Slowly, he eases, his eyes fixed on Ragnor, his mind fully concentrated on the comforting touch around his wrist and his breath relaxes.

“Mr. Fell,” Tanya says, shock written all over her face, “we didn’t expect you to attend this meeting.”

Ragnor staggers a little on his feet and it’s only because of Alec’s hold tightening around his wrist that Magnus doesn’t rush to him.

Ragnor heaves out a shaky breath and goes to sit on the bench on the first row of seats.

“Well, I got into trouble with the medi-wizards and my wife but I had to be here,” he pants. “I have some information I need to share with the Council.”

He looks like every word is tearing something inside of him and Magnus casts a desperate look to Alec at his side, begging with his eyes. Alec sighs and slightly slackens his hold but he keeps his fingers around his wrist.

“Let him say what he has to say first,” he whispers.

“He’s in pain,” Magnus argues quietly.

“Magnus, I promise I’ll take him back to St. Mungo’s myself as soon as he’s done,” Alec murmurs firmly, leveling him with one of his invariable gazes. “But he might have heard or seen something that could help us catch them. Let him talk.”

Magnus clenches his teeth but he eventually nods, resigning himself to sit in silence and watch.

“Miss Penhallow,” Tanya utters solemnly, “confidential information is about to be disclosed. The Council is going to have to ask you to leave.”

Aline is about to argue, but a simple glance from the Minister of Magic is enough to shut her up. With a sigh, she gathers her notebook and steps outside without another word.

“Please, Mr. Fell, tell us,” Tanya says as soon as the journalist is out.

Ragnor clears his throat. The action makes him wince but he quickly composes himself.

“Nicolas Shaw wasn’t alone last night,” he declares, his hand shooting up to settle against his ribs. “He was with two other people, a woman and a man. They flew before the Aurors got there.”

“Did you recognize someone?” Luke asks. His tone is rushed, impatient but it still holds his characteristic softness.

Ragnor nods. “Alastair Whitelaw,” he says and Magnus can’t even pretend to be surprised. “The woman wasn’t his wife Elizabeth.”

“Could you describe her?” Tanya inquires solemnly, face grave.

“Yeah,” Ragnor mumbles. “But that wouldn’t be any use to us.”

“What do you mean?” Luke says.

“I’m a potion master,” Ragnor replies cautiously. “I can recognize a Polyjuice potion’s effects when I see them. Her voice was off, like she wasn’t used to talking with it.”

“If she was using someone else’s identity, we could still use a description of the person they stole it from.”

Ragnor darts a quick look to Magnus and Magnus knows he is trying to tell him something without words, but it looks a lot like a silent apology and it doesn’t make any sense.

Until it does.

“Imogen Herondale,” Ragnor says. “They used Imogen Herondale’s appearance.”

The silence that follows his declaration is deafening. All Magnus can hear is his heart pounding in his chest, echoing in his temples.

The shock has made Alec release his arm and Magnus finds himself chasing after him, craving the slightest comforting touch. He stops himself right before his fingers can brush Alec’s and pulls his hand back to his knees, clutching them in an almost painful grip.

_ He is so fucking tired. _

The meeting doesn’t last long afterwards. Ragnor continues telling the events from the night before but Magnus can’t really listen to a word he says.

His mind is focused on the idea of the Children of Merlin, these hateful, awful, disgusting people daring to tarnish Imogen Herondale’s image even after her death. He feels sick, and exhausted and, mostly, he feels homicidal. He wouldn’t mind murdering them one by one.

If he loses his soul in the process, so be it. His soul has already been crushed too many times anyway.

Luke is released so he can send a team to apprehend Alastair Whitelaw and bring him in for interrogation and Tanya dismisses the rest of them soon after.

When people start emptying the room, Magnus jerks to his feet and rushes to join Ragnor.

“I’m okay,” his friend breathes out as soon as Magnus is close enough. “I’m okay.”

“Elias, Catarina,” he blurts out, not sure he is making much sense.

“They’re with Lily Chen,” Ragnor tells him softly, reaching out to lean a comforting hand on his arm.

“Am I supposed to know who the fuck Lily Chen is?” Magnus growls wrathfully, although his anger isn’t directed at Ragnor.

His friend smiles, squeezing Magnus’ arm gently. “She’s an Auror. They’re safe.”

“No one is safe these days,” Magnus sighs, feeling all the weight of his heavy heart in his chest.

“They’re safe,” Ragnor repeats. “Lily is in charge of the Witness Protection program,” he adds. “They’re going to put us in a safe house for a while. I told her to give you and Raphael the address, but you’ll be the only ones to know with Luke, Alec and Lydia.”

“I don’t even know if I can trust them,” Magnus grits out through clenched teeth. “I don’t know if I can trust anyone but the three of you and Rafa these days.”

Ragnor chuckles, but it lacks any real humor. “And here I thought you would never trust us again after we forced you to attend a Quidditch game,” he says tauntingly.

Magnus rolls his eyes, but allows a small grin to tug at the corner of his lips.

“Come on, Magnus,” Ragnor utters, squeezing his arm again. “You need to trust some people at least. You can’t rely only on us.”

“I just don’t like the idea of my Muggle-born self having to trust pure-bloods to protect me when they’re also the ones threatening me.”

“Luke is half-blood,” Ragnor argues.

“I hate you,” Magnus groans. “Stop contradicting me. I hate it when you use rational arguments against me.”

Ragnor smirks and his eyes dart over the room, stopping on Alec, who is chatting with his parents a bit further, brow furrowed and arms crossed over his chest, looking every bit like a soldier ready to go to war.

“Do you really not trust him?” he asks, now utterly serious. “I quite liked him when I worked with him, but I trust your judgment.”

Magnus follows his gaze and shrugs. “I don’t really know him,” he says sincerely. “And he’s too good-looking, it has to hide something. You can’t be that hot and be without a dark side.”

“His dark side doesn’t have to be him being a supremacist asshole,” Ragnor counters with a chuckle. “Maybe he just… has weird kinks in bed.”

“Darling, you don’t know me at all if you think that’s a bad thing in my book,” Magnus retorts with a mischievous smirk.

Ragnor scoffs and instantaneously winces in pain. “Don’t make me laugh,” he groans.

Magnus frowns and reaches out but Ragnor stops him, shaking his head. “I’m okay,” he grits out.

“You’re not,” Magnus sighs. “You should have stayed at the hospital.”

“Catarina will take care of me,” he replies. “After she’s done yelling at me for coming here in the first place.”

“True love,” Magnus comments with a flourish.

They are disrupted by Alec who clears his throat, looking at them warily, like he is afraid to step on a big moment.

“Ragnor, I’ll take you back to the hospital before I go back to Hogwarts,” he offers gently.

Ragnor shakes his head. “I’m good, Alec,” he says. “Lily is taking care of everything.”

“Oh, okay then,” Alec replies with a nod. “Lily is one of the best.”

“She better be if she’s going to look after my favorite people,” Magnus cuts in, more fondly than sternly.

“Aw, Magnus,” Ragnor coos mockingly. “I love you too.”

“I meant Catarina and Elias, dickhead,” Magnus counters but his smile is belying his words.

“Right,” Alec chimes in, looking like he has no idea what to do with himself. “Magnus, we should get going then. You have a class in an hour and we don’t want the students to suspect anything.”

Magnus sighs but nods. The room is almost empty now, so he doesn’t hesitate before he pulls Ragnor into a hug, wary of his injured bones. Ragnor holds him back fiercely with his intact arm.

“Come and have dinner with us Saturday evening,” he murmurs in his ear. “Lily will give you the address. Elias has been asking for you.”

“Of course he has,” Magnus replies on the same tone. “I’m the best godfather in the whole world.”

“That’s seems awfully exaggerated,” Ragnor chuckles.

“You know it’s true.”

Ragnor rolls his eyes, shakes Alec’s hand and leaves without a second glance.

Magnus wonders when saying goodbye to his friends will stop feeling so definite. Alec grabs his elbow gently and leads him to the Portkey that is taking them back to Hogsmeade before he can really dwell on that thought.

.

The next day, his classes drag on for so long that Magnus feels like he spent three days in his classroom when he finally dismisses the last of his students, the fifth years from Hufflepuff. They only did revisions so it wasn’t as exhausting as it can be on a regular day, when he has to duck to avoid random objects flying at his face or tame fires.

He locks the room and starts walking towards the Ravenclaw Tower, eager to get to his quarters as soon as possible. He is going to skip dinner tonight because all he wants is to sprawl on his couch and get lost in his thoughts, perhaps fall asleep in front of the fireplace with a good Muggle novel. If he gets hungry, he’s sure he can bribe Mimon, the elf in charge of the kitchens, to bring him a little something. That sounds like a perfect evening.

But, of course, because the universe seems determined to ruin his life lately, his plans get crushed as soon as he walks out of the South corridor.

There is a crowd of students gathered in front of the Transfiguration classroom, but Clary is nowhere to be seen and he knows he would have caught sight of her red hair already if she was.

The students are mostly sixth years and some are in Gryffindor while the others are in his own house. But it isn’t their presence here that drives his sense into high alert, it’s rather the way they are assembled in a circle, some of their youthful faces pulled into disgusted grimaces or, worse, hateful ones.

Magnus frowns and grabs a Gryffindor by the arm, yanking him backwards so that he is facing him.

“What’s going on here?” he asks, voice tight and unyielding.

The boy pales, all colors draining from his voice. “I- We- It’s just –“

Magnus huffs in exasperation and releases him, pushing his way through the crowd to get to the center of their gathering.

He doesn’t expect to be confronted with two childish, tearful faces. The Whitelaws twins are huddled together, frightful expressions on their faces and they look more like children than Magnus has ever seen them. They look their age for the first time.

“What the hell is going on here?” he repeats, louder, staring straight at the redheaded Gryffindor that seems to be the leader of this whole farce.

“We’re teaching them a lesson,” the boy replies, his upper lip twitching in a spiteful grimace.

“I believe I’m the one teaching the lessons here,” Magnus counters grimly. “And if you believe bullying eleven-years-old who don’t know how to defend themselves yet is a moral worth being taught, I’m afraid you’re not better than what you think you’re fighting against.”

“But their father has been arrested!” a girl from Ravenclaw chimes in. “My dad works at the Ministry of Magic! He told me they arrested Alastair Whitelaw yesterday because he is connected to the Children of Merlin.”

Magnus heaves out a deep sigh. “You shouldn’t know that,” he says. “And your father should know better than to divulge confidential information. But it doesn’t matter anyway. I don’t care what your father told you. Grace and Adam aren’t their father and even if he is judged guilty, they have nothing to do with it.”

“How can you defend them after the way they treated you?” another girl from his house inquires. Unlike the other two, it doesn’t sound outraged or angry, it is mainly curious.

“I don’t respond to violence with more violence,” Magnus declares solemnly, his gaze running over the small crowd gathered around him. “And I don’t respond to bigotry with more hatred. My role is to teach you the art of Charms, but it is also to protect the students of this school. That means every single one of you, even if your parents taught you to hate me for how I was born. Now, get out of here before it decide to take more than fifty points from both your houses.”

He holds himself tall with fierceness in his eyes but, truly, he just wants to make them all vanish into thin air with a flicker of his wand and retreat to the safety of his quarters.

A long silence follows his declaration. The students look at each other in a mixture of shame and puzzlement, like they are not sure what to do now.

“Come on,” booms a strong voice behind the crowd. “Move. Get to the Great Hall.”

Alec stands behind the students, his height making him hover above even the tallest of them. They turn toward him in a same movement but Alec doesn’t flinch, his eyes dancing over the flood of curious heads impassively.

“Come on,” he snaps, rising his voice just enough to scare the few recalcitrant ones. “Get out of here before I  _ make _ you.”

The students stumble away and out of the corridor in a hurry and Alec follows them with a cold gaze, but with the hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. So very Slytherin of him, Magnus ponders to himself, fighting back a smirk of his own.

He quickly recovers, though, and he spins around to face the Whitelaws. They don’t look as terrified as they did when he first interposed a few minutes ago, but there is still the evidence of tears streaming down their cheeks and they’re holding hands, their knuckles rendered a bleached white by their obvious concern for the other.

“Are you okay?” Magnus asks softly.

He moves forward but barely has the time to raise one hand before they falter away.

“Don’t touch me,” Grace exclaims, squirting away like she is afraid he might tear her apart with his bare hands.

Magnus almost chokes on the lump in his throat.

“Stop it, Grace,” her brother whispers, chastising.

Magnus represses a heavy sigh and raises both of his hands, showing his open palms. “I’m not going to touch you,” he says and hates the way his voice trembles slightly. “Are you hurt?”

“No, we’re alright,” Adam answers, shaking his head. “They were just trying to scare us. They didn’t do anything.”

“Okay,” Magnus says with a quick nod. “Do you want to go to the Great Hall or do you want to have dinner in the infirmary?”

“We’ll go to the Great Hall,” Adams replies and his tone is hesitant but he still watches Magnus’ every move in a mixture of disgust and weariness. “Our brother and sister are there.”

Magnus nods again and turns to face Alec who is observing their exchange quietly.

“Can you take them?” he asks, but he realizes it sounds more like a demand than a friendly request.

Alec opens his mouth to answer, but he darts his eyes away to the two children behind Magnus and huffs out a quick agreement. The Whitelaws walk to get by his side, obviously eager to get to someone who won’t tarnish their perfectly pure blood.

Magnus spins on his feet to get back on his way, but he is stopped by a strong grip on his elbow. When he turns around, Alec is right there, his face just inches away from his own and his brow furrowed.

He doesn’t talk, though. He just holds Magnus there and gapes, opening and closing his mouth like he’s trying to say something but doesn’t quite know what and how.

“Yes, Alexander?” Magnus breathes out and it probably comes out harsher than he expected it but he’s had a long day.

Week. Month.

“Are you okay?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, concern pouring out of every grave note.

Magnus casts a look at the Whitelaws, who are waiting patiently a few steps behind, away from earshot.

He could tell him the truth. He could tell him how it feels like he was born in a mundane world that wouldn’t accept how magical he was. He could tell him how he had foolishly hoped a magical world would be better for him, somewhere where he belonged, the perfect way-out.

He could tell him how his every hope had been crushed and continues to be crushed on a daily basis.

But Magnus doesn’t say those things. He barely admits them to himself. He isn’t about to bare his heart to a nearly stranger, no matter how honest his hazelnut eyes seem as they settle on him and refuse to let him escape.

“I’m okay,” he lies instead, giving him a forced smile that he is starting to master as well as the art of Charms.

Alec seems to believe him because he nods quickly and releases him, turning around and gesturing for the twins to follow him towards the Great Hall.

Magnus doesn’t wait for them to be gone. He strides the rest of the way to his quarters without looking back.

.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been sitting on his couch, eyes lost in the flames dancing in his fireplace, the wide inferno matching perfectly the chaos in his mind, but he startles when a knock bursts his bubble. He looks out to the window and it is already pitch dark outside. The night has settled quietly, the new moon bathing the scenery in a somber glow.

Magnus ponders ignoring whoever is at his door. He doesn’t want to hear another bad news and lately, it seems like it’s all that happens every time he opens a door.

But he knows he has no choice.

He doesn’t try to hide his surprise when he finds Alec in front of his door.

“Is something wrong?” he asks immediately, too mentally exhausted to bother hiding the dread in his voice.

“Yes,” Alec replies sternly. “You don’t like Quidditch.”

Magnus startles and raises a dubious eyebrow. “Seriously?” he asks bewilderedly.

Alec hums in confirmation and pushes inside abruptly, leaving Magnus gaping at the door. “It’s time for your first lesson.”

“Alec,” he huffs out indignantly, striding the room to get to him.

Alec ignores him, putting the heavy books in his hands on the coffee table in front of Magnus’ couch before dropping on it unceremoniously. 

“First,” he announces solemnly. “The rules.”

He opens one of the books and looks up to glance at Magnus through his lashes, eyes open and honest. He pats the empty seat next to him, a clear signal for Magnus to come and join him, but Magnus stays frozen at the other side of the room, his lips parted as he stares at the man with nothing but incredulity on his features.

“Come on,” Alec insists, softer. “I swear I’ll make it fun.”

And then, Magnus understands.

Alec isn’t here because he is so disturbed by the fact that Magnus doesn’t like Quidditch. He is here because he noticed the weight Magnus carries on his shoulders. He is here because he must have heard the slight desperate edge in his voice every time they mention the Children of Merlin. He must have seen something in his eyes no matter how hard Magnus has tried to hide it.

Alec isn’t here to educate Magnus. He is here to provide a distraction, to ease his mind because he knows, somehow, of the conundrum that has been whirling inside his head.

Magnus is not enough of a fool to believe Alec doesn’t have a dark side. He has never met anyone who doesn’t have one. But he thinks that maybe, just maybe, Alec Lightwood is worth trusting.

“The only way you could make it fun for me is if you’d take off that ugly shirt,” Magnus retorts and he finally crosses the room to join him, dropping on the couch next to him and pouring them two glasses of wine.

Alec snorts but looks down at himself, opening his arms. “What’s wrong with my shirt?” he inquires, genuinely confused.

“Besides the fact that it hides your certainly glorious chest from my eyes?” Magnus replies tauntingly. “Everything.”

Alec huffs out but his exasperation is clearly staged.

“Stop trying to distract me,” he says, tapping lightly on the book to catch Magnus’ attention. “You’re not getting out of this.”

“I already know the rules, Alexander,” Magnus deadpans, with maybe just the hint of a petulant pout.

“But do you  _ understand _ them?”

“Are you calling me daft?”

“What?” Alec blurts out, eyes wide. “No, of course not! I would never! According to Izzy, you’re like, the cleverest person she knows and I’ve seen you doing magic without your wand and you can’t do that if –”

Alec catches the amused look in Magnus’ eyes and shuts his mouth abruptly. He blinks, lets a small pause settle between them before he starts speaking again. “You were joking, weren’t you?”

Magnus doesn’t reply, but he bites on his bottom lip in an effort to conceal his mirth. Alec doesn’t have the time to say anything else because there’s a knock on the door.

This time, Magnus fully groans, dropping his head against the back of the couch.

“Why is everyone decided to ruin my night of brooding alone with a bottle of wine?” he whispers dramatically. “What did I do to the world?”

“You don’t like Quidditch, Merlin is punishing you,” Alec retorts with a mischievous smirk.

Magnus glares at him and quickly rises to his feet to hide the smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He doesn’t expect to find Mimon the elf there, hands filled with a plate full of food.

“Magnus Bane,” he says, his croaky voice resonated inside. “Here is your dinner.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” Magnus replies with a frown.

“I did,” Alec exclaims and he strides his way from the couch to the door. He grabs the plate from the elf’s hands and gives him a blinding grin. “Thank you Mimon,” he says. “You’re the best.”

“Mimon is only doing his job, Alexander Lightwood,” the elf replies shyly, dropping his head respectfully.

“Well, you’re brilliant at it.”

The elf mumbles something and Magnus is sure he sees him blushing before he snaps his fingers and disappear into thin air.

“Didn’t you have dinner in the Great Hall?” Magnus asks when Alec sits back on the couch, putting the plate full of food next to his books.

Alec frowns, looking genuinely confused for a second. “This is for you,” he says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “You weren’t there for dinner so I figured you didn’t have anything to eat and I did my patrol near the kitchens tonight so I asked Mimon and he told me you hadn’t asked for anything so… yeah, I just asked him to bring that up.”

He punctuates his tirade with a shrug, as if to dismiss everything he just said. As if he doesn’t realize how sweet that was of him.

And as his heart skips a beat, before rummaging wildly in his chest, Magnus thinks maybe he doesn’t.

“Alright,” Alec says, clearly oblivious to the internal turmoil Magnus is going through. “Eat something and I’ll get you through the basics.”

Maybe Alexander Lightwood is just genuinely good.

_ Magnus is so fucked _ . 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. JUST. LOVE. MAGNUS. SO. MUCH. :'))  
> Yeah, I just wanted to say that.
> 
> Let me know what you thought of the chapter. If you have any theories, I'm always thrilled to hear them ;)
> 
> Next: Dinner at Ragnor and Catarina's, ELIAS IS BACK, some Lightwood siblings bonding and what else? We'll see.
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit). You can talk to me, or yell, or call me Satan. Everything is good with me.
> 
> This was beta'd by the magical [Roja](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> All the love, ❤  
> Lucile.


	6. Oh, to be young and to feel love's keen sting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alec meets one awesome child.  
> Magnus meets another type of child.  
> There is some tension in the air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes!
> 
> I'm sorry for the awfully long wait for this chapter. Holidays, plus other projects, plus life kept me quite busy. I hope this monster of a chapter makes up for it.
> 
> Thank you for your patience.
> 
> You asked for more Malec... Well, I think this chapter is delivering.  
> Enjoy these two idiots. ❤
> 
> Ps: If you're live-tweeting, don't forget to either tag [me](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) or use the #lecrit hashtag.

“We’re going to be late.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, clipping a silver wing-shaped ear cuff to his ear.

“Darling, they know me,” he calls out from the bathroom, checking himself in the mirror one last time. He walks out, sending an amused smirk at Alec who is pacing back and forth like a lion in a cage - or a snake in its tank, but the image is disappointedly less poetic. “They don’t expect me to be on time.”

Alec throws him an unimpressed glare. “I don’t like being late,” he replies, as if Magnus hadn’t figured that out already. “And I don’t want Ragnor to think badly of me,” he adds, his professional voice back on. “He’s an important ally to the Auror Department and we need to keep a respectful and reliable relationship.”

Magnus scoffs, because he can’t help himself. Alec is lovely, but sometimes he can really get ridiculous. He strides his way to him and pats his chest lightly with his hand - and absolutely doesn’t take advantage of it to feel the broadness of his chest beneath his clothes, absolutely not.

“Alexander, Ragnor is friends with me,” he tells him matter-of-factly. “Clearly, his standards aren’t that high. Your relationship won’t suffer from being a little bit late.”

“Half an hour.”

“Only half an hour?” Magnus exclaims dramatically. “Oh, I totally have the time to do something with my hair then.”

Alec grabs his arm before he can go back to his bathroom. “No, you don’t,” he groans. “We’re leaving,” and he drags him unceremoniously out of the door.

Magnus would love to be offended, but he really doesn’t mind being manhandled, especially when Alec is doing the manhandling.

Damn, his attraction is getting out of control. He needs to get a grip.

.

“Are you like… an Auror?”

Alec startles from where he is looking by the window, checking the perimeter for the umpteenth time, and he looks down to be met by equally inquiring and impressed dark eyes. The boy barely reaches Alec’s hips and he doesn’t seem too reassured by his presence, his mouth pulled into an uneasy grimace. It must have taken all his courage and more to gather the tenacity to talk to Alec.

Alec squats to be on his level and the boy takes a step back, but keeps his gaze focused on him, scrutinizing his every move.

“I am,” Alec says with a gentle smile. He holds out his hand. “I’m Alec.”

The boy seems to hesitate but he eventually shuffles a bit closer to shake Alec’s hand. “I’m Elias,” he says with a serious tone far beyond his years that has Alec biting back a chuckle.

He doesn’t say anything else, but he goes to stand with Alec next to the window, clearly mimicking how Alec was acting before, scanning the wheat fields surrounding them with narrowed eyes. Elias is standing on his tiptoes, too small for the bar or bow windows, his fingers gripping the edge to keep him upright. Alec smiles fondly and reaches out to grab him under the arms and pull him up so he can sit on the edge. Elias seems a bit wary at first but eventually, he relaxes and goes back to his observation.

The safe house where Ragnor and his family have been tucked away while they deal with the Children of Merlin’s situation is lost in the Scottish countryside, far away from London. The house is surrounded by miles and miles of fields, poppies and wheat and corn. It’s stunning and peaceful, and yet, it feels like a prison, even to Alec who doesn’t have to live here.

It would certainly be perfect if its inhabitants were here by choice and not because an unfortunate turn of events has forced them here.

“Are you here to save us from the bad guys?” Elias asks again after a while, turning back to Alec to level him with an impressively calm gaze for a five-year-old.

Alec isn’t sure how to answer that. Elias’ words are simple, as simple as you would expect from a little boy his age, but the meaning behind them is far from that. Elias is too young to understand how truly bad these people are. He’s also too young to endure what he is facing now.

He was there for the explosion at the Quidditch match. His father got hurt. They had to move away.

Elias is only five and his life has been turned upside down.

Alec wonders if he will soon stop to find new reasons to hate the Children of Merlin every day. Probably not.

“I’m here to protect your godfather,” Alec says truthfully, because he doesn’t know what else to say. “Lily and Raj are here to protect you and your parents.”

“Is Magnus in danger?” Elias gasps, his eyes widening in slight panic, and Alec curses inwardly. Clearly, he’s doing this wrong.

“Of course not,” comes a cheerful voice behind them. Alec notices the way Elias’ dark eyes lighten up immediately and his insides melt.

Magnus strides his way to them, a wide grin on his lips, and Alec thinks that it might be the first time he sees him looking so genuinely happy. It is a welcome change, so different from the haunted spark he has learned to recognize and dreads.

“How can I be in danger when I have the best Aurors to protect me?” he exclaims dramatically, gesturing vaguely towards Alec with a flourish.

Elias doesn’t seem really convinced. He glances between Magnus and Alec, his eyes squinting dubiously in an expression that looks shrewd beyond his years.

“You don’t have to lie to me, Magnus,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and he sounds oddly chastising. “I know there are bad people making you sad.”

Magnus’ grin flatters a little, but Elias is already going on before he can try to deny it.

“It’s okay, though. Alec looks like he is strong enough.”

Alec feels a surge of pride fluttering in his chest. He thinks it might be slightly ridiculous that the approval of a five-year-old makes him feel that way.

“I know, right?” Magnus muses, reaching out to close his fingers around Alec’s biceps, squeezing lightly. “Have you seen his arms?”

Alec flushes and quickly clears his throat to hide it, knowing full well it is pointless. Magnus smirks at him and he knows he failed miserably.

Elias scoffs in exasperation. “ _ Magnus _ ,” he whines, like he can’t believe he has to explain himself. “His arms don’t matter. He has a wand.”

Magnus fakes surprise, bringing a hand to his mouth to stage deep reflection. “You’re right,” he exclaims exaggeratedly. “I guess that’s just a bonus.”

Elias frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Alec shakes his head, casting a stern look to Magnus.

He remembers Lydia’s knowing gaze every time she catches him staring for too long. Really, Magnus isn’t helping him keep his attraction away. If he wasn’t so open about his flirting, maybe he could... but every time he thinks he has it under control, Magnus does  _ that _ and his restraints flatter a bit more.

It’s all kinds of ridiculous.

But it’s also oddly thrilling.

Alec doesn’t remember the last time he flirted with someone. He isn’t even sure he ever has.

It’s not that he never experienced attraction before, or that he never acted on it, but Magnus is different somehow. It feels more real with him, probably because Magnus is exactly that: so completely, utterly real. He doesn’t hide and even when he thinks he is, Alec isn’t fooled.

Magnus is an uncompromising person.

When he feels, he feels fully, no matter the nature of the feeling. When he is in pain, like Alec has witnessed him be too many times before, it seems like something is shattering inside of him, like his heart is being torn apart and it immediately shows in the impossible depth of his eyes.

But when he is happy, like he seems to be now, it’s not only his eyes. It’s his whole person that is glowing. His brown skin shines more than usual and the glitter in his hair and on his eyes sparkles like a million of stars in a midnight sky.

He is breathtaking and Alec doesn’t know how he is supposed to deal with that, no more than he knows how to bring reassurance to a child he only just met.

It might be easier if his attraction was purely physical, but in the few weeks that he’s known him, Alec has learned to appreciate Magnus for the person that he is: caring, fair, intelligent and impossibly kind, probably too much for his own good. It would be much more manageable if he was a complete asshole.

He needs to get away before this becomes too much.

He should have guessed, by the way he had heard Isabelle and Max praising him so many times before, that Magnus Bane would be dangerous for him.

Alec clears his throat, scratching the nape of his neck nervously. “I’m- ahem- I’m going to go see if Ragnor needs help in the kitchen,” he blurts out and flees out of the door.

He takes a second to gather his breath and his thoughts, leaning against the wall that leads to the corridor.

“I don’t think he likes me very much,” Elias says and Alec has to resist the urge to slam his head again the wall, running a hand in his hair instead.

“Oh, pumpkin,” Magnus cooes lightheartedly, “he would be the biggest idiot in the world if he didn’t.”

Alec sure feels like the biggest idiot in the world.

.

Raj has been in England for five years. He was transferred from the US Auror Department for what was supposed to be a temporary mission, and had ended up moving here because he had fallen in love with London. Just London and absolutely not a six foot three, impossibly kind and devastatingly handsome Auror who just happened to be starting formation when Raj arrived in England.

So, maybe he has a crush. Maybe he’s had a crush for too long to remember when it started.

And it’s because he has this crush that Raj knows Alec. He doesn’t to pretend to know him completely, or as deeply as Isabelle or Lydia do, but the thing is he spent so much time staring (in a completely non-creepy way, he swears) that he knows where to look. He can recognize and decipher Alec’s facial expressions in the split of a second, no matter how quickly he composes himself.

He’s good at that, Raj ponders to himself, concealing his feelings, hiding in plain sight what most people don’t take the time to look at twice.

But Raj does, which is probably why he can see that Alec is struggling right now.

He is standing in the kitchen, chopping off vegetables on the imposing oak table, twirling his wand in the air while holding a courteous conversation with Ragnor, who is cooking something that smells so delicious that Raj’s mouth is already watering.

Raj may not be overly fond of having to stay put, hidden in Scotland while the Children of Merlin are on the loose, but Ragnor’s cooking skills partly make up for it.

It’s not that Alec is struggling with the task at hand, which is fairly simple, but he is struggling to keep his impassible mask, and Raj has the greatest difficulty in hiding his surprise.

In all the years he’s known Alec, he has never seen him lose his cool. But there he is, stuttering, the tips of his ears colored red even though he is simply conversing about his time at Hogwarts with Ragnor, who seems oblivious.

Magnus Bane is sitting with Elias on his lap right next to the table, at Alec’s side, and the two of them are engulfed in their own little bubble, whispering in each other’s ear and giggling like five-year-olds - which only one of them is. Magnus is making blue sparkles glimmer between his fingers much to Elias’ absolute delight, and sometimes Magnus sends one to Alec, who startles but doesn’t say anything, just the corner of his lips tugging into a small, private smile instead.

_ Oh _ .

Alec isn’t struggling because of Ragnor, or because he’s uncomfortable in this foreign house. He’s struggling because of Magnus, and clearly he doesn’t know how to deal with the fact that  _ he is  _ comfortable here.

It’s almost sweet to witness, the way his eyes shift away when Magnus’ wide grin turns from Elias to Alec. It’s kind of heartbreaking too, to think that Alec has been so used to shield his feelings away from the world that he tries desperately to hide them even to himself.

But Raj can see clearly through the façade, and although he feels the uneasy tug of jealousy squirm in his stomach, he also wants Alec to be happy, because he knows no one more deserving. And for that, Alec needs to open up a little, to allow himself to embrace and welcome the opportunity of living openly. He didn’t come out last year, bravely and peremptorily, to keep living like he did before. It just seems like he has taken the bad habit of living in a shell and that he is scared to leave it. It is quite unsettling, to come to that conclusion when Alec is one of the bravest people Raj has ever met.

He wished there was something he could do, but well… Raj is just a man with a crush watching from afar.

He startles when an owl comes flying into the room abruptly and stops right in front of him, watching him with oddly judgmental eyes. Raj barely suppresses the urge to stick his tongue out at the animal. Spending so much time with a five-year-old hasn’t been good for his adulthood.

It’s a letter from Theo, the guy he went to have a drink with before he was affected to the Fells’ protection, hoping it would help nurse his crush on Alec.

And well, if Alec is going to take a leap into the void and lets himself seek happiness for once, maybe he needs someone to show him the way. Maybe Raj should try and do the same.

“Hey, Alec,” he calls out.

Alec’s head snaps up to look at him. He was busy showing Elias how he cuts the vegetables with his wand, the little boy’s eyes widening in awe - and Alec is definitely scoring points with Magnus if the fond spark in the man’s eyes is anything to go by.

“Yes?”

“Do you think I could have Wednesday night off?” Raj asks innocently. “I have a date. With a man. Because I’m gay.”

Alec blinks, his mouth falling open, his eyes widening comically in shock. Magnus has the decency to hide his snicker behind his hand.

“Uh, s-sure,” Alec stutters, opening and shutting his mouth in a whimsical impression of a goldfish. “I’m not in the position to give days off, though.”

“Oh yeah,” Raj replies with a shrug. “I’ll just ask Garroway.”

Alec nods, lifting an eyebrow in puzzlement.

“What’s gay?” Elias asks Magnus loudly, his juvenile voice transpiring with innocence and genuine curiosity.

Magnus chuckles and Ragnor spins around, completely discarding the food, to stare at his son with a small smile tugging at his lips.

“It’s a man who loves men or a woman who loves women,” he tells his son, “the same way your mom and I love each other.”

“Do they kiss grossly like Mom and you?” Elias inquires with a grimace, his nose scrunching up in repulsion.

“Look at you,” Magnus quips playfully, sending a blue spark straight between Ragnor’s eyes, who levels him with a murderous glare. “Already traumatising your son.”

“Kissing isn’t gross,” Ragnor replies, ignoring his friend. “It’s what people do when they love each other very much.”

Elias nods thoughtfully and stays quiet for a moment, seemingly reflecting on this new information.

“Are you gay?” the little boy asks then, turning towards Alec, yanking on the sleeve on his sweatshirt to catch his attention.

Alec drops his wand in shock and one of the carrots flies through the room, landing straight into the wall and on the floor with a dull thud. He blushes, his cheeks coloring a deep red that spreads all the way to the tip of his ears.

“Elias!” Ragnor calls out, chastising. “You can’t just ask people if they’re gay.”

“Why not?” the little boy asks, genuinely confused.

“Because it’s a complicated matter,” Magnus answers in lieu of Ragnor. “You could make them uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay,” Alec cuts in, running a hand at the nape of his neck. He ducks his head to look only at Elias, avoiding everyone else’s eyes in the room. “Yes,” he says, with a confidence that isn’t portrayed on his features, “I’m gay.”

“I figured,” Elias says bluntly, punctuating the words with a firm nod.

Alec blinks in shock, shares a quick bewildered glance with Magnus, and then the most wonderful thing happens. Raj’s mouth drops open, because Alec laughs, and he realizes, just then, that it is a sound that he’s never heard before.

In the years he has known Alec, he thought he had witnessed the full palette of his emotion - joy, pain, anger, annoyance and, rarely, self-satisfaction even - but this is new and it blows his mind.

It is a beautiful sound, light and clear, smooth like a tidal wave. It makes his eyes squint with amusement and he throws his head back, exposing the lean curves of his neck.

Next to him, Magnus is laughing too and Elias is looking between them like they promptly lost their minds.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks, slightly annoyed. “What’s so funny?”

Magnus presses a kiss in his godson’s hair, burying his mirth there. “Oh, pumpkin,” he mumbles, voice filled with affection and laughter, “I love you so much.”

Elias looks even more confused but he doesn’t question it, leaning into his godfather’s chest with a tiny pout.

Magnus looks up at Alec, the fondness still quite pregnant in his eyes, and mouthes “sorry” at him as if he was the one who just half-outed Alec in front of three people. Alec shrugs in reply, using gestures instead of words, and smiles back, small and confidential.

Raj thinks that this is new too. Alec has never looked at anyone like he is looking at Magnus now. It might take time but Raj has no doubt about where this is going and maybe it is time for him to let go. Yes, Raj is definitely going on a date with Theo on Wednesday. Theo was nice, funny, intelligent and good-looking.

Raj shouldn’t waste that opportunity because he is pining over a man who is, quite clearly, going to take that leap into the void soon.

Alec looks content if not happy and it is such a welcomed change, so different from the stern, strict demeanor he has used them to, that Raj can’t even feel jealous.

Alec deserves this. He just needs to learn to believe it himself.

.

Maybe Alec isn’t doing everything wrong after all.

Elias seems to be slowly warming up to him and he keeps asking him questions about what an Auror has to do and if he fights bad people every day (Alec says yes for the simple reason that he isn’t sure how to explain what paperwork is to a five-year-old) and if he gets to fly on a broom sometimes.

Magnus groans at that, pointing at Elias with his fork, a deeply disapproving glance in his eyes. “I know where you’re going there, pumpkin,” he reprimands him. “Alec isn’t going to take you flying.”

“But he’s an Auror!” Elias protests.

“That doesn’t qualify him to teach you how to fly,” Catarina argues softly.

She arrived right before dinner with Lily, who is escorting her back and forth from work at St Mungo’s. Catarina refused to postpone her job in spite of the threats, and even though Alec’s Auror formation is telling him he should disapprove of her reckless choice, he is quite admirative of how deeply she cares about her job. He can relate to that.

The last time he got hurt on the line of duty, he went to work the next day and Luke had to threaten to fire him to force him to go back home. He actually lasted two days pacing back and forth in his apartment before he all but begged Luke to let him go back to the Auror Department. Luke caved once he promised to settle for only doing paperwork for the time it took for his arm to fully heal.

Catarina looks exhausted, her dark skin somehow paler now, almost grey, but she still holds herself upright with an impossibly calm gaze as she glances at their guests. Next to her, Ragnor is silent but his lips are pulled into a gentle smile that never truly seems to leave him.

Alec understands why Magnus seems to care so much about them.

“How am I going to become a Quidditch player if you never let me fly?” Elias whines, his bottom lip protruded into a sulky pout.

Alec especially understands why Magnus seems to care so much about Elias, but he is a bit biased. It’s hard not to grow attached to the little boy. He is smart beyond his years and he cares for his loved ones in that peculiar way only children can manage, obnoxiously and unconditionally.

“Why don’t you want to become a teacher like your amazing godfather instead?” Magnus retorts, rolling his eyes.

Elias sighs. “Because that’s boring,” he replies automatically, like it should be obvious.

Alec bites back a smile, but he apparently does a poor job at it because Magnus narrows his eyes at him, although the action is belied by the amusement he can read in them.

“Alec,” Elias calls out, still pouting, “tell him teaching is boring and Quidditch is cool.”

“You heard him,” Alec says tauntingly, sending a playful smirk to Magnus.

“Excuse you,” Magnus gasps dramatically. “Teaching is awesome. Don’t go all mighty hero on us, Alexander. You’re merely doing paperwork.”

Alec’s grins broadens as he pops a roasted potato into his mouth. Ragnor’s cooking is divine. He wonders if he can get invited every weekend.

“I also catch the bad guys,” he retorts, probably more teasingly than he should allow himself. “I’ve got some scars to prove it.”

Magnus leans forward on the table, his eyes sliding up and down Alec’s body shamelessly and Alec feels his cheeks flame. Really, he should know better by now. “Oh, really?” Magnus purrs, licking his lips deliberately and Alec focuses his whole attention on his plate to avoid meeting the teasing spark in his eyes - or to avert himself from focusing on those frustratingly inviting lips. “I’m not sure I believe that. Maybe I need proof.”

Fortunately, Alec doesn’t have the chance to answer (or more likely stutter a ridiculous response out) because Elias gasps. “You’ve got scars?” he asks loudly, his eyes wide with awe. “That’s so cool!” He then turns towards his parents, who are both quite obviously holding back a laugh. “Mom, Dad, I want to be an Auror!”

“Well, that’s great,” Magnus mumbles under his breath, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly. “Why do you have to choose a career that will lead to a certainly violent death?”

But Elias isn’t listening to him, too busy explaining to his parents how great of an Auror he is going to be. 

Maybe Alec isn’t doing everything wrong after all. And yeah, maybe he wouldn’t mind being invited every weekend even if Ragnor’s food was disastrous. Which it isn’t. At all, he ponders to himself, chewing on a carrot.

.

Magnus wouldn’t admit it, but he knows the way he puts his coat on extra slowly is pretty obvious. He doesn’t remember the last time he had such a great night, peaceful, and full of laughter, without the heavy tug of the dark times they are living weighing on his chest.

If Magnus cares so deeply about his friends, it isn’t just because of how great they are (although he makes a point of never telling them too much). It is because no matter the darkness he walks into, blinded and disoriented, they remain immovable. Strong.

Their friendship isn’t negotiable. It exists in all realities, through the good and especially the bad times, and as long as they are by his side, Magnus knows he can endure anything.

They make everything bearable.

He had needed this. Ragnor’s cooking, Catarina’s knowing looks and soft advices, Elias’ childish magnificence. He feels better, and really, he doesn’t want this night to end.

But Elias’ eyes are slowly shutting now, although he puts all his efforts in keeping them open to pretend he isn’t tired.

Catarina pulls him into a strong hug when he goes to stand by the threshold with Alec. She clings to him uncharacteristically long, but Magnus embraces her right back.

“Please be careful,” she murmurs into his ear.

Magnus pulls back and gives her a reassuring smile. “I always am,” he replies, with a smirk that makes her laugh.

“Of all the words I could use to describe you, careful is pretty low on my list.”

Magnus shrugs. He doesn’t want to tell her that lately, he is careful, not matter how much he hates to throw away his innate carefreeness. He won’t tell her how he has taken the habit of discreetly glancing over his shoulder, on a permanent lookout for potential threats, ever since the Children of Merlin threatened him and Simon.

He won’t tell her he is afraid.

“Oh well, you know me,” he quips, his fingers dancing in the air in a flourish.

“Yes, I do,” she tells him in that enigmatic tone of her that means she isn’t fooled.

All Magnus can do is offer her a small, private smile, and turn away before he lets gloomy thoughts invade his mind, which is still stuck in a blissful daze.

“Magnus!” Elias calls out as he walks into the hall. He is wearing his pajamas, the green material decorated with a pink squid with bright blue eyes. He marches his way to him with all the verve a five-year-old can summon. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going home, pumpkin,” Magnus replies with a soft smile, glancing inquisitively at Ragnor who is chasing after his son, who obviously decided to sneak out while Ragnor was distracted in his task of putting him in bed.

“No,” Elias asserts firmly. He reaches him and grabs a fistful of his shirt, holding on in as strong of a grip he possibly can.

Magnus frowns and his lips part slightly in surprise. “Well, I have to,” he says slowly, bringing a hand down to ruffle the boy’s hair playfully. “I can’t stay here forever.”

“Yes!” Elias shouts and everyone in the room startle to look at him.

Magnus looks down, bewildered, and his heart breaks, the ache so unbearable that he has to inhale deeply to bring some air back in his lungs. Elias’ wide dark eyes are filled with tears and his bottom lip is wobbling. His clutch tightens on Magnus’ shirt and Magnus feels it all the way to his throat and promptly forgets how to breathe again.

“Pumpkin -”

“No,” Elias protests before he can continue, shaking his head firmly. “You can stay here. This is a safe house. That means you’re safe here.”

“Elias,” Ragnor calls out gently, “let Magnus go, darling. Magnus has to work.”

“No!”

Magnus clenches his teeth and swallows past the lump in his throat before kneeling to get on Elias’ level. He opens his mouth, but shuts it again almost instantly, lost for words.

Magnus is good with words, has always been. It is one of the reasons why he is a good teacher, because he knows how to captivate a crowd with just the right intonation, just the carefully selected word. But this is too much and he doesn’t know what to say.

Elias is a clever boy and he understands enough about what is happening around him to know that Magnus isn’t safe, lately. There isn’t much Magnus can say to reassure him without lying to him and he just can’t do that. He doesn’t want to lie to one of his favorite people in the world, doesn’t want to diminish himself to that. He doesn’t want to give the Children of Merlin the satisfaction.

“Hey, buddy,” comes an impossibly soft voice to his left and Magnus almost doesn’t recognize Alec’s voice, the gentle tone so different from his usual soldier front.

He squats next to Magnus, tilting his head to catch Elias’ eyes and Elias looks back, equally reluctant and defiant. The stubbornness is soothed by the way he sniffles, however, and Magnus closes his eyes as if it could protect him from the heartbreaking sound.

Alec rides up the right sleeve of his dark green sweater. Earlier, when Alec had met him in his quarters before they left to apparate outside of Hogwarts’ protection, Magnus had made a joke about him being Slytherin even in his ugly sweaters and Alec had given him a pointed glare which had given Magnus all the perfect opportunity to appreciate how it actually complimented his stunning eyes. Now, Magnus only focuses on Elias’ reaction, who follows Alec’s movement with curious eyes.

“See this?” Alec says gently, giving the boy a small smile. He is showing him a scar, a jagged line that spreads from just below his elbow to the middle of his forearm, smoothed by age. “I have the same one on my shoulder,” he adds carefully and Magnus wouldn’t mind discovering that one on his own.

Elias nods. He is still sniffling, but his eyes are now widened with interest instead of heartache, and for that only, Magnus is grateful.

“I got these on one of my missions,” Alec continues, the fingers of his right hand rubbing absentmindedly at the scar. “I was protecting a wizard who had done some bad things and had left a lot of people very angry, while he was awaiting for his trial. Do you know what a trial is?”  

Elias nods, looking just a little proud of himself.

“Of course you do,” Alec grins, “you’re a smart boy. Someone tried to attack him and I protected him. It’s how I got those scars. It was a little painful, but I was doing my job. Now, that man was really bad. He was not a good person. But, your godfather -” Alec pauses, clears his throat and he looks for a second, no more than that, to the side at Magnus before darting his eyes away and back on Elias, who stands completely captivated. “Your godfather is pretty great, right?”

Magnus has to lick his lips to bring some moisture to his mouth. It feels utterly dry right now and he could pretend he doesn’t know what caused it, but he does. The answer is in the softness of Alec’s eyes as he looks at his godson like he is staring at a fragile, precious treasure.

“He’s a bit crazy, but he’s the best,” Elias says and Magnus can feel his pulse throbbing in his neck and he takes a deep breath in a vain attempt at taming it.

Alec chuckles, his smile broadening into a wide, amused grin. “Yeah, he’s a bit weird,” he concedes and Magnus makes a show of gasping dramatically, but he isn’t sure it was credible. Alec ignores him, winking playfully at Elias instead, who giggles.

Right in that moment, the sound echoing in his ears like a blissful relief, Magnus thinks that if he isn’t careful, he might find himself falling for Alexander Lightwood.

“Well, if I went through all this trouble,” Alec continues, gesturing to the scar on his arm again, “to protect a bad man, don’t you think I’d try twice as hard for Magnus?”

Elias stays silent for a while, pondering on the words, his nose scrunching up in concentration. Eventually, he relaxes, finally releasing his grip on Magnus’ shirt.

“You promise?” he asks, whole attention captured by Alec.

Alec smiles, small and private, and Magnus almost feels like he is intruding in a moment that was meant just for the two of them. “I promise,” he says, a perfect mask of seriousness.

Elias nods firmly and turns towards Magnus. “I think he likes you,” he tells him bluntly. Magnus isn’t sure he is as innocent as he appears to be, but he isn’t complaining. He is his godson after all and he didn’t expect any less from him.

Magnus doesn’t reply. Instead - and purely because he is maybe slightly malicious - he turns a sly glance to Alec who is staring at Elias with his lips parted in shock, his eyes blown, and as Magnus expected, a raging blush growing on his cheeks and spreading all the way to his neck and below his sweatshirt.

Magnus grins and sends a playful wink to Elias, who tries to do the same but ends up blinking instead. He chuckles and opens his arms for Elias. The little boy throws himself into the embrace, almost suffocating Magnus with the force of his enthusiasm.

Magnus drops a kiss in his hair. “Come on pumpkin,” he mutters. “Time for bed. I’ll see you soon.”

Elias tightens his hold a little before he steps back. He glances up at Alec, who is back on his feet and moves forward to hug his legs.

Alec blinks, bewildered, and pats his head gently, like he isn’t really sure this is okay or what he is supposed to do.

“He’s a hugger,” Ragnor tells him, amusement dripping off his tone like he is trying really hard not to laugh.

Magnus rolls his eyes and goes to hug him while Elias yanks on Alec’s pants to get him to his level. Alec goes willingly and Elias murmurs something in his ear that Magnus can’t hear but that brings another blush to his cheeks.

Magnus would feel sorry if he didn’t think it was adorable. And that he was the main reason for his godson’s impudence.

Alec clears his throat as he rises back to his feet again, running a hand in his hair. “Ready?” he asks, turning towards Magnus, although he pointedly avoids his eyes.

“Always for you,” Magnus retorts cheekily.

The mortification on Alec’s features turns into an exasperated smile when Ragnor and Catarina laugh. Catarina bends to pick up Elias, who waves at them as Alec and Magnus finally step outside.

The night is quite chill, September having already pushed away the pleasant freshness of summer evenings. They walk silently together, through the wheat field and up the hill when they will be able to Apparate. Magnus is about to get his wand out when Alec stops him. He looks unsure, nothing like the confident man he mostly appears to be, especially when it comes to doing his job. He opens his mouth to talk, but closes it again, his nose scrunching up a little.

“We don’t have to go back just yet,” he eventually says slowly, like the words are surprising him too. “D-Do you want to go to Hogsmeade? Have a drink first?”

Magnus stares, taken aback.

It is not that he hasn’t noticed the way Alec’s eyes rake over him, but he just thought that it would take him much longer to crack the impassible soldier façade.

No matter how much he wants to say yes, he has to admit it doesn’t sound like a good idea. They barely know each other, but Magnus already knows that Alec isn’t a casual hookup that he’ll be able to disregard and forget the next day. To begin with, Alec is going to be around for a while. And then, probably more importantly than Magnus is willing to admit - to himself or to anyone - he wouldn’t want Alec as a casual hookup.

Alec is a gem. Kind, caring, fierce and good, so profoundly good that Magnus has some trouble believing he is real, sometimes. Magnus could never dare to treat him as any less than that.

And yet, he finds himself wanting to say yes. He doesn’t have a chance to.

“N-Not like a date,” Alec blurts out in a rush, his eyes widening as if he just understood the meaning of his words. “I would never!”

Magnus startles, taking a step back to send him a shocked glance, keeping the hurt as far away from it as he can.

“Why, Alexander, you certainly know how to charm a man,” he taunts, lifting a defiant eyebrow.

Alec’s eyes shut close and he runs a hand on his features, cursing under his breath. “That’s not what I meant,” he mutters and he looks tired, but mostly of himself so Magnus doesn’t take it personally. “O-Of course I would. I mean, you’re very datable. Or well, I’m sure you’re a great date. B-but I’m on duty. Like, it couldn’t be a date. I can’t do that. I’m working, you know. Oh, by Merlin, why am I still talking?”

Magnus’ hurt vanishes as he stares at the man in front of him, chewing on his bottom lip to refrain from laughing. Or cooing. Alec isn’t helping.

Alec blows out a shaky breath and lets his eyes find Magnus’. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “It’s just… Jace is in Hogsmeade tonight. He sent me a fire message this afternoon, but I couldn’t go because I had to escort you here. I haven’t seen him since I was sent to Hogwarts, and he was still in St Mungo’s. I haven’t had a day off so… yeah, if you’re okay with that? Maybe?”

Magnus smiles, impossibly endeared, and reaches out to take his hand, squeezing lightly before he gets his wand out. “Does he talk about Quidditch as much as you do?”

Alec seems to unwind immediately, a playful smirk gracing his lips as he mutters tauntingly, “he’s a professional Quidditch player, what do you think?”.

Magnus stages a defeated sigh. “The sacrifices I am willing to make to put a smile on your pretty face.”

Alec throws him an unimpressed glare that doesn’t manage to fully hide the blush on his cheeks. “Just make us Apparate, Magnus,” he deadpans, but his eyes are shining under the moonlight with something like fondness.

Magnus doesn’t know if it is meant for him or if it is caused by the idea of seeing his brother, but he welcomes it either way.

.

Even in the still early days of autumn, Hogsmeade looks like a Christmas card. It is already quite late into the night and everything is dark around them, which only adds to the mystic atmosphere of the place, the enchanted candles hanging from the trees illuminating their path as they walk through the village. The lights of the picturesque cottages and shops are dimmed, but it is enough for them to find their way.

Magnus is walking next to Alec, a small, inadvertent smile on his lips. It makes him look younger, the way he seems to be so easily happy in that moment and it makes Alec realize that he had really needed that, a night with his friends away from the recurrent pains that seem to accumulate these days.

“So, are we breaking the rules?” Magnus asks with a mischievous smirk.

There is a slight bounce to his steps, his arms dancing at his sides with every step and Alec tries not to be endeared by how adorably innocent it makes him look - and fails.

Alec pulls a face, but doesn’t reply.

Magnus’ smirk broadens into a wide grin. “I can’t believe Alexander Lightwood, the perfect Auror in muscles and shining armor, is actually a rule-breaker,” he quips playfully. “I knew there was some rebel hidden under that severe mask.”

Alec scoffs and stops walking, swiftly catching Magnus’ arm to force him to do the same. It is a mistake because suddenly, Magnus is right there, insufferably close and the way his eyes glimmer under the light of the candles, the prickled gold in them shining like a million stars, is all kinds of unnerving. He releases his arm immediately, his eyes shifting to stare right into Magnus’, pointedly avoiding looking at his lips, which are pulled into a teasing beam.

“It’s not exactly breaking the rules,” Alec argues after clearing his throat, “it’s just… bending them a little. We got permission for dinner and-”

Magnus scoffs indignantly. “I am an adult. I don’t need anyone’s permission.”

“You do when your life is in danger,” Alec retorts automatically. “I know you don’t like it, but these rules are meant to protect you.”

“And yet you’re  _ bending _ them,” Magnus says with a taunting smirk and the emphasis he puts on the word shows quite clearly how he doesn’t believe Alec’s excuse.

Alec deflates a little and he chews on his bottom lip nervously when he realizes how unprofessional of him it is. He had been aware of it from the start, but he is willing to bend any rule if it allows him to see Jace. The last time he saw his brother, he was laying in a hospital bed and he just needs to put another image in his head. One that doesn’t keep him awake at night. One that isn’t inevitably accompanied by the underlying fear of losing his loved ones.

Alec isn’t used to being selfish, but Jace is family and there are not many rules he wouldn’t break for his family, not many things that would make him put his loyalty towards them aside.

“I’m sorry,” he sputters hastily. “I don’t mean to put you in danger. I’m here to protect you and I will -”

He stops talking abruptly when Magnus raises a ring-clad finger to set it in front of Alec’s mouth. He isn’t touching him, but Alec can feel the light brush against his lips and it makes his skin prickle in anticipation.

Magnus smirks at him and Alec releases a shaky breath that he convinces himself will pass as nerves and nothing else.

“It wasn’t a reproach, Alexander,” Magnus purrs. He leans forward and Alec wonders inwardly how people can claim that Magnus is any less of a wizard in virtue of his upbringing because he is positively bewitched. “Actually,” Magnus drags the word in a whisper, his voice so smooth that Alec is incapable of repressing a shudder. It runs all the way from the bottom of his spine to the back of his neck. “I think I like this misbehaving side of yours.”

Alec’s skin is tickling with the need to touch, to close his fingers around Magnus’ shirt and pull him flush against him to feel the warmth of his body against his own and Alec is left momentaneously breathless by the sheer force of his desire.

He had known from the first time his eyes had met Magnus’ and travelled over the lean lines of his body that he was attracted to him, but  _ this _ , this is too much.

He has to take a step back to be able to breathe again.

“The pub is here,” he exclaims, probably too vehemently for this hour of the night, pointing to the inn at the end of the street.

Magnus blinks and it takes him a few seconds to get moving again. Alec wonders if he experienced the same overwhelming sensations he did or if he was just lost into his thoughts like he seems to be quite often.

“Lead the way, darling,” Magnus urges eventually, forcing a smile on his face. Alec has no idea when he started to be able to differentiate Magnus’ fake smiles from his genuine, luminous one.

The realization leaves an uneasy, remorseful feeling in his chest.

The Three Broomsticks Inn was always popular. Even when Alec was a student, it was always packed. It is the first time he’s come here at night, however, but he isn’t really surprised to find it as crowded in the middle of the night as it was in his years at Hogwarts.

The inn is exactly like in his memories, warm and cosy, albeit a bit smoky. He spots Jace easily, his eyes immediately drawn to Clary’s fiery red hair. Alec frowns. He hadn’t expected Clary to be there, but he supposed it makes sense, seeing as Jace and her are apparently dating. Which reminds him that Jace never told him about this relationship and they had to learn it from Clary herself when they were waiting for news from Jace after the first attacks.

Alec strides his way to their table, Magnus on his heels.

Jace smiles when he sees him, leaning back in his chair, one arm tugged on the other seat next to him.

“Brother, I thought you’d never come,” he says, a mocking smirk already pulling at his lips. Alec rolls his eyes. Usually, it takes Jace more than thirty seconds to use that tone with him. “Actually, I thought you wouldn’t come at all.”

“Oh, he was very willing to come, but it’s my fault,” Magnus says, mischief dripping off his voice, and Alec closes his eyes. He doesn’t know why he thought that would be a good idea. This is going to be a nightmare. “I delayed his release.”

Jace curves an eyebrow and tilts his head when Magnus stops next to Alec, who is most definitely not blushing, scrutinizing him up and down before he sets his eyes on his face. “I don’t know you.” He pauses and his eyes light up with a look that Alec only knows too well: trouble. “I don’t know you, but I like you.”

“I’m Magnus Bane,” he replies with a grin, holding out a hand for him to shake, not unfazed for a second by Jace’s lack of manners.

“Jace Lightwood,” Jace says, shaking the outstretched hand. “So, you’re the infamous Magnus Bane. You’re quite popular in our family.”

“I'm sure your parents would disagree,” Magnus sneers under his breath, punctuating the words with a cheeky smile.

He goes to sit next to Clary, who drops a kiss on his cheek. “I didn’t know you’d be there,” she exclaims cheerfully. Her cheeks are a bit flushed and Alec eyes her glass dubiously. She clearly hasn’t been drinking Butterbeer. Or maybe she is just naturally high-spirited,  which would explain why Simon and her are such good friends.

“I couldn’t leave Alec all alone,” Magnus replies tauntingly. “Someone has to protect him.”

Alec rolls his eyes and takes the seat next to Jace, who sends him a knowing look that Alec purposely ignores. Clary tugs Magnus in a conversation about the prank one of the students from Gryffindor tried to pull on her and he tunes out completely.

“Your protective instincts are already rubbing off on him,” Jace mutters, for Alec’s ears only and Alec closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, fully knowing what is about to follow. “Or are you not on that stage of your relationship yet?”

“There is no relationship to begin with,” he grits out through clenched teeth.

“Alec, I just met the guy and the first thing he told me was an innuendo about having sex with you,” Jace retorts, looking far too smug for Alec’s liking. “And you didn’t even flinch. You blushed. And don’t think I didn’t see that smile. I know you too well.”

The thing about Jace is that he never knows when to shut his mouth. He is blunt, a trait of character that seems to run in the family, but not in the way Alec or even Isabelle are. Jace tells you what he thinks, when he is thinking it, and with absolutely no care for social conventions or sensitivity.

He had done exactly the same thing when Alec was still struggling with his sexuality. If he had known he was gay, admitting it to others had been something else entirely. Jace had walked up to him one day when Alec was studying in Hogwarts’ library, had sat in front of him, looked straight into his eyes, and had said “I know you like dudes, it’s okay, I love you regardless,” before promptly opening his book to start studying, leaving Alec to stare at him in bewilderment.

People are quick to dismiss Jace’s intelligence; he never had the best grades in the family, he is loud, obnoxious, and reckless, but Jace is one of the most observant people Alec has never met. He possesses an intelligence that doesn’t come from books, but is innate, which makes it all the more unique.

Most of the time, Alec admires him for it. Right now… Not so much.

“Whatever,” he grumbles grudgingly. “Shut up.”

He turns his head to avoid his astute gaze only to be met by another pair of eyes, deep brown, and warm, and soft and Alec really needs to get a grip.

“I’m going to go get a drink,” Magnus tells him. “Do you want something?”

“I can’t drink,” Alec says. “I’m on duty.”

“You’re already breaking the rules to be here,” Magnus retorts, throwing him a pointed glare. “Or  _ bending _ , sorry,” he adds with a mocking smirk.

“Oh, don’t be fooled by the stern exterior,” Jace chimes in, hiding his grin behind his glass. “Alec is willing to do plenty of  _ bending _ . I’m talking about the rules, of course.”

The tone of his voice is quite obviously suggesting the opposite and Alec groans, dropping his head on the table and mumbling a few chosen insults under his breath. He can’t stay mad for long, though, because Magnus makes a noise that has his head snapping up immediately. It isn’t exactly a laugh. It’s a giggle, a light, clear sound that lasts no longer than a second. Magnus bites his lips to muffle it but too late.

He leans over the table, leveling Jace with a mischievous look. “You know what, Jace Lightwood?” he stage-whispers. “I think I like you too.”

“No,” Alec protests, glancing desperately between the two of them. “You two are not allowed to be friends. Absolutely not. You’re already exhausting on your own. The two of you teaming up is more than I can take.”

Jace and Magnus open their mouths at the same time and Alec can almost see the wheels of their brains turning to plan his demise.

“If either of you say whatever you are about to say and it turns out to be an innuendo, I will curse you into next week.”

Their mouths shut abruptly, but they share a conniving glance and a smirk and Alec is left with the knowledge that he might have just created a monster.

He rolls his eyes and jerks up to his feet. “What do you want to drink?” he asks Magnus. “I’ll go get them.”

Magnus sends him a look that is somewhere amidst amusement and fondness. “A red currant rum.”

Alec nods and starts walking towards the bar when he is struck by a fleeting thought. Jace and Magnus shouldn’t get along. He spins around on his feet and goes back to the table, pointing an accusatory finger between the two of them, who are already laughing together - and he doesn’t want to be paranoid, but he is quite sure he is the reason for their mirth.

He stops in front of the table and pauses for effect, waiting until the three pairs of eyes are set on him. Then, he claps a hand on Jace’s shoulder.

“Magnus doesn’t like Quidditch,” he says and turns on his heels, feeling quite proud.

And a little bit petulant, too, but he tells himself this is self-preservation.

The witch behind the bar gives him a dubious look when he orders one pumpkin juice for himself, but she doesn’t question it. He is sure she has seen weirder things than someone ordering a non-alcoholic beverage at one in the morning while working here.

When he goes back to the table, sliding Magnus’ drink towards him, he doesn’t try to hide his surprise when his brother and him are still chatting cheerfully. He does conceal a relieved smile when he realizes he isn’t the subject of conversation anymore, however.

“Seriously?” he exclaims when he sits back.

Jace levels him with a taunting gaze and Alec wonders if he isn’t doing an effort to get along with Magnus just to drive him crazy. He wouldn’t be surprised if Magnus was doing the exact same thing.

Alec shrugs and takes a sip of his pumpkin juice, purposely ignoring him.

“You don’t like anything that is fun and I don’t love you less for it,” Jace remarks.

“That’s because your definition of fun is ‘likely going to cause death or at least unfathomable pain’,” Alec deadpans.

“You’re never going to forget about the time I made you break into a dragon pen, are you?”

“Nope,” Alec replies, shaking his head. “Never.”

“Oh, I love that story,” Clary cuts in, a wide grin breaking on her lips and Alec frowns.

“How do you know about it?” he asks, maybe slightly harsher than necessary.

“Jace told me,” she says simply, albeit warmly.

There is something peculiar about the way Clary smiles. She doesn’t smile because she is amused, or endeared, or polite. She smiles naturally, like she was born with it and it stuck with her through time. She holds an effortless beauty that is certainly due to the kindness of her soul.

“Well, I don’t know that story,” Magnus chimes in, “but I’m all ears.”

Jace grins maniacally, like he always does when he is about to narrate his shenanigans. For once, this story isn’t one that is too embarrassing for Alec. It is for Jace though, because as much as he wants to claim his recklessness is actually bravery, sometimes it is just downright stupidity.

It’s completely worth it because by the end of the story - when Jace gets to the point where Alec had to  _ accio _ a broom to get them out of a dragon pen where the mother dragon was about to fry them alive for getting close to their babies and they both ended up with a broken arm - Magnus is laughing, carefree and happy and loud and Alec fathoms that he wouldn’t mind if every day ended up turning like this one.

Free of any trouble, away from their daily responsibilities. and the bad news that just keep coming.

.

It is so late that it’s actually early when they get out of the inn hours later. The sun isn’t quite set, not even peaking yet, but the sky is starting to shift, the darkness slowly retreating. There is not a soul around them. Jace and Clary stayed at the inn because Jace rented a room for the night - and Alec most definitely doesn’t want to think about the purposes of said room - and Magnus and him are on their way back to the castle.

They are walking together, the silence around them confining them in a peaceful atmosphere that is accentuated by the foam that is forming in the village. Magnus is uncharacteristically quiet, but in a way that is pleasant to witness. He looks serene, calm and collected, but also - if not happy - content. Magnus had needed this, a night of distractions and laughter.

It feels like a victory, albeit a small one, and Alec can’t help but smile to himself.

His smile promptly disappears when he catches sight of three shadows evolving around the end of the village and his whole body tenses, ready to fight if needs be when he recognizes one of them through the fog. They are marching directly towards them and Alec doesn’t give himself the time to form a plan. He grabs Magnus’ sleeve and unceremoniously drags him in the nearest dark alley before pushing him against the wall and blanketing his body with his own, clapping a hand against his mouth.

Magnus’ eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t fight him off. Alec brings a finger to his lips, motioning for him to stay silent, and he waits until Magnus nods before taking his hand off.

“Morgenstern,” he murmurs as quietly as he can.

Magnus rolls his eyes and plucks his wand out of his pocket. He murmurs something under his breath and moves his wrist in a graceful twirl. Alec feels the familiar shiver of a charm being cast upon him run along his spine.

“There,” Magnus whispers. They are so close that his breath is hitching against Alec’s throat, warm and awfully distracting. “Invisibility Spell. I can’t believe you’re the pure-blood here and yet you forget to use your wand. Or was it an excuse to push me against a wall? Because -”

“Magnus,” Alec cuts in sternly. “Now is not the time.”

The steps are coming closer, a soft, dull sound, and Magnus shuts his mouth abruptly. Alec steps closer to him subconsciously, his protective instincts cutting off any other distraction that could come from their proximity.

“Morgenstern,” comes a foreign voice, feminine and peremptory.

They stop right in front of the alley when she reaches out to grab Sebastian’s arm, who yanks his arm out of her hold, his face pulled into a disdainful grimace.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about this before,” Sebastian growls angrily. “I had to find out on my own!”

“We had good reasons not to,” replies another voice and Alec startles this time. This voice, he knows. It’s a masculine voice, soft and steady. He can’t see the man it belongs to, his face hidden by the dark hood of his robe, but  _ he knows him _ . Which would be incredibly less frustrating if he could remember who he is or even why he does.

“We had talked about this before, Morgenstern,” the woman says. “How many times did the Circle talk about purifying the wizarding world? We just acted instead of talking.”

Alec feels Magnus tense against him and he doesn’t let himself do the same, instead craning his neck to try to take a look at the intruders.

He can see the woman. She is facing the alley and although she is wearing a hood as well, he can see her face. Her skin is as white as snow and her piercing blue eyes are flashing with a superiority that can only come from a noble upbringing. Her hair is tugged under the hood but he can see a few blonde strands falling down her cheeks messily. Her nose seems too small for her face, but it compliments her high cheekbones. She looks like the pure and innocent princess of a fairytale, waiting for her prince to wake her up. Unless she doesn’t seem like she needs or even wants a prince. She seems determinate, strong and utterly destructive.

“That’s not why I’m angry,” Sebastian hisses bitterly. “I don’t care about you killing Mudbloods. Kill as many Mudbloods as you want. Kill them all for all I care. They shouldn’t even breathe in the first place.”

The hatred in his voice is palpable, pregnant and ineluctable. Magnus spasms against him, like he momentaneously feels sick and Alec closes his eyes, but cold, white fury is already creeping through his veins and he doesn’t try to stop it, doesn’t  _ want _ to stop it. His hold tightens around his wand and he is ready to jump at Sebastian’s throat to knock the heinous words out of him when he feels trembling fingers closing around his sweatshirt, and he freezes.

He looks down at Magnus who shakes his head, a silent demand that holds the determination of an order. Alec clenches his teeth but nods, although he doesn’t loosen his grip on his wand, no more than Magnus slacken his grasp on Alec’s sweatshirt.

“Then what’s the problem?” asks the man and Alec frowns. He concentrates as much as he can, but he can’t fathom why he knows his voice, where he heard it, why it seems slightly different to the one he is familiar with.

“The problem is that you didn’t tell me,” Sebastian snaps and Alec realizes, right then, what Magnus has probably understood way before him.

Sebastian is a child. A deadly intelligent and powerful child, but a child nonetheless. He is so used to getting what he wants when he wants it that he can’t bear the idea of things not going his way. Alec feels a vicious pleasure at seeing him now, capricious and upset.

“We can’t have you involved,” replies the woman, her blue eyes staring at him like she is incredibly bored. “I’m pretty sure you’re already their number one suspect. You can thank Daddy Dearest for that.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Sebastian murmurs threateningly. “And my father is locked away in Azkaban, leave him out of this.”

She scoffs and she is about to go on when the hooded man holds a hand up and she shuts her mouth, rolling her eyes.

“Do you want to get involved?” he asks, turning his head to look at him. Alec tries to catch a glimpse of his face but he remains invisible to his eyes.

“I’m a politician, not a terrorist,” Sebastian retorts heatedly.

“Which is exactly why we didn’t tell you,” the man replies, like he knew exactly what Sebastian’s answer would be. “Do your part as a politician. Use your words to make people understand how toxic these… usurpers are. Make them understand that Mudbloods are no wizards and should be either exterminated or sent back to live with the Muggles. We will do our part.”

Alec wants to lean forward completely, to pull Magnus fully into his arms and protect him from the casualty the man utters the heinous words with, but he doesn’t. He has seen how strongly Magnus holds himself against the casual attacks he is the regular victim of and he isn’t sure Magnus would want him to. If he knows anything about Magnus by now, it is that Magnus doesn’t let himself show weakness, not in front of his loved ones, and especially not in front of his enemies, even when they can’t see him.

“What’s next?” Sebastian asks. He still looks angry, but his voice is calmer now, less threatening but all the more worrying.

“We can’t give you the details, in case you are interrogated,” the hooded man replies. “But it will be big.”

“In numbers?”

“In consequences.”

“What about Hogwarts?” Sebastian inquires then, gesturing vaguely in direction of the path that leads to the castle.

Magnus’ fingers imperceptibly tighten their grip on Alec’s shirt.

“We’re working on it,” the woman says.

“Bane? And Lewis?” Sebastian asks and Alec clenches his fists where they rest on the wall on both sides of Magnus.

Let them come, he thinks. Let them come so he can show them exactly how a Lightwood burns his enemies to the ground without blinking. Let them try to touch the purity of Simon’s heart, the deep-seated kindness and intelligence of Magnus. He will show them in numbers  _ and _ in consequences how he treats people like them.

“We can’t just kill them,” the woman says. “The castle is packed with Aurors and we have higher goals for Hogwarts. Bane and Lewis mean nothing.”

“We want to take over the school,” the man adds, crossing his arms over his chest. The hood on his face moves just slightly enough for Alec to get a glimpse at his chestnut-brown hair and his pale skin, but he moves again, hiding himself from Alec’s sight. “But don’t worry, we’ll take care of them soon enough.”

“And how will you even get in?” Sebastian drawls in his eternal dragging tone, lifting a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s one of the best protected places in all the wizarding world.”

The man chuckles and reaches out to grab his shoulder. The gesture is utterly condescending, meant to belittle him, and if the way Sebastian’s jaw faintly flexes is anything to go by, he is fully aware of it. Alec’s eyes drift away from Sebastian’s irritated expression to study the man’s hand. There is a wedding ring on his finger, a simple golden band that shines under the candle lights.

“Sebastian, my friend,” he says slowly, the taunting smile evident in his tone, “we’re already in.”

Alec shares a quick bewildered look with Magnus.

“Well, if you have the opportunity to get rid of Bane, do it whenever you can,” Sebastian replies with a smirk. “I fucking hate the bastard.”

“The feeling is mutual, asshole,” Magnus mutters, barely audible. His breath ghosts against Alec’s throat and he can feel how it trembles. He doesn’t know if it is out of anger, despair, or something else entirely but he doesn’t dwell on it, not right now.

“Lewis is just an idiot,” Sebastian goes on and Alec has no idea where he is finding the strength to restrain himself from ripping his head off with his bare hands, “not that I would expect more from a Mudblood, but Bane has influence in the Ministry. He has some high-ranking friends who listen to his Mudblood equality nonsense. He is more powerful and more influential than he seems to be. He is dangerous for your cause.”

The man nods and hums thoughtfully. “We can’t act right now because it would blow our cover,” he says after a pause. “We need to keep a low profile until we are ready to take over. We need to strike everywhere at the same time or the others will know we are coming. But I’ll send a message later today to let our… asset in Hogwarts know that they have permission to kill him if they get an opportunity to do so in complete discretion.”

“Don’t do it rashly,” Sebastian states, running a hand in his blond hair. “Don’t make him a martyr.”

“Sebastian, when we are done with  _ Phoenix _ , there won’t be any bigot left to make him a martyr.”

Alec would chuckle at the irony of him calling people who think differently from him - so basically, decent people - bigots because that is exactly what they are, and worse, but that would risk exposing their already fragile cover.

“We have to go,” the woman cuts in. “The sun is going to rise soon and we can’t be seen together.”

Alec is ready to jump right out of the alley to stop them, but before he can move, Magnus is tugging at his sweatshirt to keep him close. Alec wants to protest, but Magnus levels him with a stern, grave glance that roots him to the spot.

“We’re outnumbered,” he whispers, “and they don’t know we heard everything. We need to use it to our advantage.”

“I need to catch their ass and lock them away before they hurt anyone else,” Alec retorts heatedly, although he doesn’t raise his voice higher than a murmur.  _ Before they hurt you _ , he doesn’t say.

“And then what?” Magnus says firmly. “Then the rest of their disciples will take over and continue their work. And all you’ll have done is take away the one step we can finally have ahead of them.”

“How is that a step ahead?” Alec counters, although he has given up on trying to stop them. They are saying goodbye now. He can hear them and he wants to act before it is too late, before they slip through his fingers once again, but something is telling him that he should listen to Magnus instead. “We don’t know who these two people are. They didn’t say any name we could use. All we know is that there is a mole in Hogwarts. How many people in Hogwarts, Magnus? How many possibilities?”

He is just finishing his sentence, the irritation starting to make him raise his tone in spite of himself, when he hears the familiar sound of Apparating and he knows his chances at catching them now are fully gone.

Magnus looks up at him but doesn’t try to push him away, and Alec doesn’t move, his instincts still on high alert.

“Alexander, we know a few things that we can use. At least one of the things they want. One of the things the mole will want. Me.”

“To kill you,” Alec corrects and it makes another surge of anger pulse through his temples.

Magnus takes a deep breath and as he feels his chest rise against his own, Alec realizes how closely they are standing. There isn't a part of them that isn't touching, their bodies pressed together in a way that would look intimate to any bypasser.

Alec doesn't move away.

“Send a Patronus to Luke,” Magnus whispers. “Tell him to meet us this afternoon at Hogwarts. In my quarters. Just Luke. No one else.”

“Why?”

“Because apart from Tessa, Raphael, Clary, Simon and… well, you,” Magnus says, and there is an insecure edge to his tone, a slight hesitation, “there is no one in this castle I know with absolute certitude that I can trust.”

“You trust me?” Alec echoes, more bewilderedly than he would have wished.

“I believe I do,” Magnus replies softly. “It surprised me too.”

Alec feels a bit silly, especially at a time like this, for the way Magnus’ confession makes something warm flutter in his chest. But it is there before he can truly ponder on it, strong and unnerving, and this isn't just plain attraction anymore.

There is that too and Alec doesn’t think he ever felt it so strongly, the desire to feel Magnus’ lips against his own so tenacious that it almost becomes a need. A craving. But he also feels the need to protect him, to shield him from a world that is more cruel to him than it should be to anyone. He is perfectly aware of the fact that Magnus doesn’t need protection, is quite capable of taking care of himself, but that never prevented Alec from feeling obligated to protect anyone.

Magnus has gone silent, his eyes scanning Alec’s features like he is trying to read his soul, the gold in them shining with the morning lights that are slowly creeping in the alley.

It wouldn’t take much for Alec to kiss him.

“Alec,” Magnus murmurs, as low as he had when they had no choice but to keep quiet. Now, the reasons are different. Alec can read in Magnus’ eyes that he knows it just as well as Alec does. “We should get back to the castle.”

“I know,” he whispers back.

He waits for one, two seconds, body still leaning against Magnus’, revelling in the way they seem to fit perfectly together, wondering how well they could fit in another situation, another reality, one where they don’t have the obligations and responsibilities they both carry.

In a perfect world, Alec would have taken Magnus for a drink tonight and walked him home. He would have asked for a second date, and a third, and he would have kissed him, long and passionate enough to leave him longing for more. He would have listened to the voice in his head that tells him that the things he is feeling for Magnus are not normal. They are not  _ common _ . They are a promise for much more.

In a perfect world, Alec would have kissed Magnus against this wall, in the alley now illuminated by the morning lights, until they would have both been breathless and dizzy with desire and affection.

In this world, in this reality, Alec takes a step back and they heave out a deep breath together, equally relieved and yet defeated.

.

Hogwarts is still asleep when they get there, the corridors plunged into the quiet envelope of the early morning. Alec is lost in his thoughts, his mind swimming with too much information. He can’t quite put a meaning to most of them.

So he does what he always does in those situations: he makes a list of the things he knows for sure.

Sebastian Morgenstern isn’t part of the Children of Merlin, but he knows who they are. There is a mole in Hogwarts. Magnus is in danger. The whole castle is in danger. The Children of Merlin are planning something big, something that would certainly shake the wizarding world once again. They call it  _ Phoenix _ . They need to talk to Luke and form a plan. Before they do that, they can’t talk to anyone about the scene they witnessed in Hogsmeade.

This, he knows for sure and he chooses to focus on that, on what makes sense so he doesn’t have to concentrate on the rest of it, on what he can’t quite comprehend yet. Magnus.

When they stop in front of Magnus’ quarters, the small, content smile he had bore during their night out is gone and he is frowning, serious and severe instead of playful and flirtatious.

“I’ll stay with you,” Alec blurts out before he can stop himself.

Magnus merely lifts an eyebrow.

“I can’t leave you alone with what we just learned,” he quickly adds. “I’ll take the couch.”

Magnus scoffs, but smiles faintly, tiredly, before turning towards the gargoyle at the entrance of his quarters. It is surely a testimony of how tired he is that he doesn’t make a joke about Alec sharing the bed with him or any other shrewd and bawdy comment he somehow always manages to utter. As much as he acts exasperated when Magnus does so, Alec would rather have him back to the colorful, exuberant, shameless, but  _ warm _ , impossibly warm person that he is.

“Glitter,” Magnus mumbles, without none of the enthusiasm he had when Alec had first followed him there.

“Alec!”

They startle and spin around on their feet as the voice booms behind them, but Alec relaxes immediately at the sight of Lydia - and tenses again when he realizes how it looks like, him following Magnus in his chambers in the wee hours of morning.

She is holding in her hand the map Magnus gave them as she strides their way to them, brow furrowed strictly.

“Where the hell have you been?” she exclaims when she gets to them, barely sending a second glance to Magnus.

Lydia looks genuinely angry and Alec frowns in confusion.

“You can’t disappear for hours with him,” she continues, gesturing vaguely towards Magnus with the map. “We need you here.”

“Why?” he asks, his body tensing immediately. “Did something happen?”

“You were supposed to be gone for dinner, no longer than that,” Lydia replies heatedly. “It’s half past six in the morning.”

“We went to see Jace in Hogsmeade,” Alec says slowly, if not a bit astonishingly. “I know I was supposed to bring him back right after dinner, but you know I haven’t seen Jace since he got out of St Mungo’s and-”

Lydia blows out a deep, exasperated breath, so uncharacteristic of her that Alec startles and his following words die in his throat. “Alec, I know all of that, but you’re just being incredibly unprofessional,” she declares and he clenches his teeth. He doesn’t want to fight with Lydia now. He is exhausted and he needs to be at the top of his form, both mental and physical, when Luke meets them later today.

“Oh, come on,” he protests, “we went out for one night! We were together the whole time and we were never in danger.”

It is a lie, but Alec doesn’t tell her that. As much as his protective instincts are incredibly strong, he also has some survival ones as well that push him to keep his mouth shut.

“Are you so desperate to get laid that you would risk both your lives?” Lydia snaps, eyes flashing with a wrath Alec can’t bring himself to understand.

His mouth drops open for a second, the accusation leaving an uneasy sting at the back of his mind.

“I went to see my brother,” he counters, now raising his voice too. “My brother, who almost died, and that I hadn’t seen since he got out of the hospital. This had nothing to do with Magnus.”

“Funny how you knew exactly who I was referring to,” Lydia retorts, her cunning blue eyes darting to the side at Magnus for a second.

“It’s my fault,” Magnus butts in, taking a step forward to position himself between Alec and Lydia, both hands raised in surrender. “I needed a night out. When he mentioned his brother was in Hogsmeade, I convinced him to go. I’ve had a rough time lately, I needed the distraction.”

Alec wants to protest, to tell him not to lie on his behalf, that he doesn’t Magnus to protect him, especially not from Lydia, but Magnus throws him a quick, pointed look that has him shutting his mouth instead.

“You can’t put lives in danger because you’ve had a rough time lately,” Lydia says. She is significantly smaller than both him and Magnus, but she holds her ground with her characteristic fierceness, chin held high and eyes narrowed in anger. “All of our lives have been turned upside down, but you don’t see us sneaking out, acting harshly and then using it as an excuse.”

“Lydia, that’s enough,” Alec snaps, his voice booming through the corridor and echoing against the wall. “What the fuck? What is up with you?”

“Do you have any idea how worried I was?” Lydia all but yells and he can now read it in her eyes, underneath the anger. “You can’t disappear for a whole night, Alec. Especially not when you’re with Bane and his life has been threatened repeatedly.”

Alec deflates a little, his shoulders slouching with exhaustion and he runs a hand over his face with a sigh.

“I get it,” he admits reluctantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about all of this, but you need to calm down. We’re both okay and you’re stepping way out of line. Magnus has been through a lot and he still is facing bigotry everyday for how he was born, something that both you and I can’t understand. I think he is entitled to some time off. He doesn’t need you to add more pressure on him.”

It’s Lydia’s turn to sigh now. She shakes her head, locking her strict eyes with Alec’s and Alec doesn’t recognize her, doesn’t see his best friend. Instead, he sees a complete stranger in her place.

“You’re not thinking straight,” she says.

“To be fair, I don’t think he’s  _ ever _ thinking straight,” Magnus cuts in, but the playful edge of the words is belied by the way he is leveling Lydia with a severe, albeit impossibly calm look.

“Seriously?” Alec breathes out in disbelief, sending him a bewildered glance. Magnus shrugs. “Please get inside,” Alec adds, not unkindly. “I’ll join you in a minute.”

Magnus seems to hesitate for a long moment, but eventually he tears his eyes away from Alec’s, sends a quick, wayward gaze to Lydia - who looks like she is boiling inside - and steps inside without looking back, shoulders tensed.

Alec doesn’t let his eyes wander on him, immediately turning back towards Lydia.

“That was rude and unnecessary,” he grits out. “What got into you?”

“You’re falling for him,” Lydia replies and Alec could try to deny it for good measure, but he knows there is no point in lying to Lydia. Or himself.

“How is that any of your business?” Alec asks instead, stubborn frown back on his face.

“It’s my business if that distracts you from the reason why we’re here,” she retorts, with a calm and composed tone that reminds him of his mother when she was scolding him and his siblings when they were children. This makes anger sting at the back of his mind but he pushes it back.

“We’re here to protect the people in this castle,” he says, rubbing his fingers together nervously in order to ground himself before he snaps and actually ends up shouting at her. “I know that. And unlike what you apparently seem to be thinking, I’m not forgetting about it. I have people I care about in this castle just like you do. Don’t give me that bullshit just because I went out for one night with Magnus.”

“Exactly,” Lydia states pointedly, opening her arms in exasperation. “You went out  _ with your mission. _ ”

“Oh by Merlin!” Alec exclaims exasperatedly, his head throbbing with irritation. “We’re both adults, Lydia. You’re not my mother. If I wanted to be reprimanded for going out with a man, I’d go see my actual mother who would do so happily. I haven’t missed one patrol or one meeting and all my reports were on Luke’s desk when they were due, sometimes even sooner than that. I’m doing my job and I’m doing it well, so think twice before you try to throw accusations to my face.”

“I can’t believe you’d do that,” Lydia mutters through gritted teeth, almost absently, lowering her head like she can’t even look at him. Alec frowns and he thinks he sees something shift on her face, her lips pursing in an almost disgusted twist before she looks up again. She mumbles something else under her breath. Alec only hears the word “tarnish” but it is enough to make his blood freeze in his veins.

He takes a step back, as shocked as if she had slapped him.

“Lydia, you better shut up right now because if you say out loud what I think you are about to say, I’m going to be very, very angry and it’s too early, or too late, for me to hear that crap. I don’t know what’s up with you, but maybe you should go get some sleep yourself and think about the  _ real _ reasons why we are here. The ones that have to do with morals and basic human decency and not just executing orders. I’m going to get some sleep now.”

He doesn’t wait for her to answer and spins around, slamming the door shut behind him, taking a moment to lean against it and gather himself. The disappointment that is tingling in his chest makes his pulse throb in his temples and he can feel the beginning of a headache jab at the back of his skull.

He tries to understand, to fathom what got into Lydia’s mind, but he just can’t.

He has known her for fifteen years and they barely ever fought. He remembers meeting her in the Hogwarts Express in his first year. They had both been equally scared and excited. They had ended up talking because Lydia asked him if he knew if the rumors about the giant squid living in the lake were true. Alec had barely shrugged that he didn’t, but he was sure it wasn’t since they wouldn’t let a dangerous animal live near children, and Lydia had nodded. They had spent the rest of the trip sharing their doubts and qualms about Hogwarts, but they had stuck together, not leaving each other’s side from the whole night. When Alec had been sorted in Slytherin, he had all but ran to join Lydia at the table.

They had both taken some time to adapt to this new life in Hogwarts. Alec had missed his siblings, Lydia her mother who has raised her alone. So they had helped each other out, making silly jokes and offering distraction when it was needed. Hogwarts hadn’t become a second home to him until Jace and Isabelle had joined him there, but Lydia had made it bearable for those two years away from his siblings. Somehow, she had become family to him too.

And yet, he had looked into her eyes and seen a stranger. The blue of her eyes was unmistakably hers, but the wrath, on the brink of hatred, he had seen in them wasn’t hers.

He has never seen Lydia like that and the last thing he wanted was to fight with her, but she didn’t really leave him any other choice.

He needs to sleep. He just wants to sleep.

Eventually, he pushes off the door and takes the steps up to Magnus’ quarters. He stops dead on his tracks at the entrance and, as if by magic, his anger and disappointment vanish into thin air.

Magnus is laying on the couch, hands crossed over his stomach, eyes closed and chest rising up and down peacefully. He looks serene here, in perfect harmony with his surroundings, the room decorated in diverse shades of blue, the ceiling painted with a dark sky, shooting stars flying periodically in the oddly soothing marvel of magic.

Alec finds himself smiling before he can stop himself and he walks quietly to the nearest chair, grabbing the blanket that sits on the armrest to spread it over Magnus. He kneels next to the couch and stares, his eyes scanning the way Magnus’ eyelashes flutter slightly but remain close, how his makeup is a bit smudged now, emphasizing the shadows under his eyes, how his brow is furrowed even when it should relax in sleep. His hair is peaking out in every direction, the dyed blue strands flopping over his forehead and Alec can’t help but to reach out to push them off his face, letting his fingers card in Magnus’ hair, enjoying the softness that sweeps through his touch.

“You know I’m not sleeping, right?” Magnus mutters softly, although his eyes remain firmly shut.

“Yeah,” Alec breathes out.

Magnus smiles tiredly through his daze, and he extends a hand to grab Alec’s wrist before dropping a kiss into his palm, eyes still stubbornly closed.

Alec’s breath hitches in his throat and he blushes, the tip of his ears heating up.

“Good night, Alexander,” Magnus murmurs, shuffling on the couch to get more comfortable. “Just take the bed.”

“Good night, Magnus,” Alec whispers back, squeezing his hand before he lets go and get back on his feet, his heart hammering in his chest.

He walks straight to the bedroom and falls head first on the bed, groaning as Magnus’ scent fills his nostrils and makes his head spin.

 

_ Alec is so fucked. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments are quite magical.
> 
> This was beta'd by the magnificient [@warlocksrune](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Come and talk to me about these two idiots on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and/or on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit)
> 
> Next time: Luke is a king. What's up with Lydia? Izzy and Raphael are back.
> 
> All the love,  
> L. 
> 
> Ps: My lovely wife, I hope you saw what I did there. ❤


	7. it is our choices that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes!
> 
> I'm calling this chapter "Luke should just adopt everyone" in my head and I think that's a great title.
> 
> Happy reading! ❤
> 
> Ps: Don't forget to tag [me](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) or use the #lecrit hashtag if you're live-tweeting.

It’s already late morning when Alec emerges from a restless sleep. He blinks his eyes open, surveying his surroundings warily. He didn’t pay much attention to it when he stumbled in here and collapsed on the bed, but Magnus’ bedroom is shaped to his image, all lean curves and bright colors. It’s warm and inviting and Alec finds himself smiling in his daze before the events from the night before come back to him all at once, making his head spin some.

The dinner at Ragnor and Catarina’s, meeting with Jace and Clary at Hogsmeade, Morgenstern’s discussion with the two strangers at the wee hours of morning, Magnus flushed amidst a wall and him, Magnus’ breath ghosting against his throat, Lydia completely flipping out. Magnus. It is too much to take in and Alec doesn’t know what he is supposed to do and he hates it.

Alec likes his carefully organized life. He likes order and having a structure that he can rely on. That’s one of the reasons why he is such a good Auror. He is as good on the field as he is at filling in reports that prove to be concise but thorough.

The last month of his life has been utter chaos. With the Children of Merlin’s threats hovering above all of their heads, and the addition of Magnus - infuriating, stomach-twisting, heart-clenching Magnus - in his life, nothing seems to fit in the complex construction he has always relied on to bury his vulnerability away. 

That is not mentioning that he fought with Lydia,  _ actually _ fought with Lydia, who has been a constant and resolute presence in his life ever since he was eleven. The only time they had an argument was when Lydia tried to convince him that he should come out and Alec was still too far in the closet to listen to her, which had resulted in him shunning her out and her getting irritated with him for refusing to listen to her. It had lasted one day before they had both apologized and made up. This is different. 

Nothing makes sense anymore, and Alec doesn’t know how to fight to keep his life together and avoid the permanent raging storm that seems to swipe away all his efforts at keeping himself together.

He heaves out a deep sigh and gets out of bed, dragging himself out of the room and into Magnus’ living room.

Magnus is already there, sitting on the couch, leaning over the coffee table as he sips on a cup of tea and chews on a biscuit, looking down at one of the Quidditch books Alec has forced him to keep so he could study them properly. To say he is surprised to find him actually doing so is an understatement.

Despite all his qualms about their relationship - or semblance of relationship, Alec doesn’t know how to call what they have, although he knows there is undeniably something there - he smiles softly.

The sound of the bedroom door closing behind him makes Magnus’ head jerk up and the way his eyes light up when he sees him makes something painful twist in Alec’s chest. There is definitely something there.

“Alexander!” Magnus exclaims, his grin too wide to be fully genuine. He looks exhausted, like he does too often lately, but he has mastered the art of burying his feelings and hiding them behind those wide smiles that light up his face but don’t reach his eyes. Alec envies how easily it seems to be for him. “Mimon brought coffee for you. He said you didn’t drink tea. And biscuits!”

He looks so excited at the mere idea of biscuits that Alec almost wants to make fun of him. That is until his stomach grumbles loudly and he can suddenly relate to Magnus’ enthusiasm.

He joins him on the couch and grabs the fuming mug of coffee that is waiting there for him and a couple of biscuits, pointing his chin at the book.

“You’re doing your homework?” he asks teasingly.

Magnus rolls his eyes and leans back in the couch to sit with his legs crossed, crowding his tea between his hands as he looks at Alec with a nonchalant grace that should be impossible to achieve.

“I don’t like not knowing things,” he replies with a casual shrug. “And at least, the history of the sport’s invention is interesting, unlike the sport itself.”

Alec shakes his head, dropping it on the back of the couch and angling it to give Magnus a pointed glare that turns out more amused than he would have hoped.

“I’m still not giving up,” he says tauntingly. Magnus feigns a disheartened grunt. Alec smiles, poking his knee playfully. “Stop being dramatic. It’s not that awful.”

“Well, I do get to spend more time with you,” Magnus retorts and it sounds so sincere, his eyes displaying nothing but sheer honesty, that Alec doesn’t even fight back the small smile that graces his features, nor does he blush like he normally would.

“Then stop moaning about it,” he murmurs, but the reprimanding tone he was going for is lost in obvious affection.

Alec should not be so attached to someone he met barely three weeks ago. It makes no sense. It goes against every single restraint he has imposed himself in the foolish hope to keep away from anything that could distract him from his job.

Magnus is the ultimate temptation to push him off the invariable, boring but safe path and Alec’s heart seems set on letting him lead him towards the more sinuous roads, dangerous but never dull, hazardous but exhilarating.

“I will,” Magnus mutters, shifting just a little bit closer and Alec’s breath catches in his throat, “but I have one condition.”

Alec squints one eye at him, lifting a dubious eyebrow. “Maybe I can just gag you and force you to listen to me when I talk about Quidditch,” he retorts with a conceited smirk which promptly disappears when he realizes he just gave Magnus ammunition.

“Kinky,” Magnus quips, winking at him. “I like it.”

Alec blushes this time, taking a long sip of coffee to conceal it. Magnus really isn’t helping him keep his restraints intact.

“You know what I mean,” he mumbles.

Magnus smiles broadly and nods, leaning in to pat Alec’s forearm gently. Alec doesn’t let himself dwell on how his skin is tickling where he touched him when Magnus removes his hand.

“One condition,” he repeats playfully. “And I’ll stop moaning - unless it’s good moaning, in which case I won’t be the only one to blame.” He pauses for a second, before adding thoughtfully, “Hopefully.”

“Magnus,” Alec scoffs, half in irritation and half in amusement. “What’s your condition?” he asks, before Magnus can give him more reasons to think about him and moaning in the same context. It’s awfully distracting.

Magnus’ smile curves wickedly at the corner of his mouth, an eager spark dancing in the gold flickers of his eyes.

“What did Elias tell you?”

Alec was expecting many things, probably something inappropriate that would have made him blush, but certainly not that.

“Uh?”

“What did Elias tell you?” Magnus repeats slowly, leaning his shoulder against the back of the couch as he turns to face Alec. His legs are still crossed and his foot is dangerously close to Alec’s thigh, brushing, not properly touching but Alec’s heart skips a beat anyway. “Last night,” Magnus eludes. “Before we left. He whispered something in your ear and you blushed. It was adorable, by the way. That’s my condition: I want to know what he told you.”

Alec doesn’t reply immediately. He remembers the words the little boy told him perfectly, and even though he ushered them to a buried corner at the back of his mind, they have been poking at him ever since. It is frankly ridiculous, that he lets himself be affected by the words of a child, but it is not any child, and these are not any words.

“Nothing,” he lies. Quite poorly so, but Magnus caught him off-guard and Alec’s self preservation is sometimes stronger than his need to be fully honest.

Magnus huffs in indignation and settles his tea cup on the table, grabbing the book instead before he stretches completely on the couch, unceremoniously dropping his legs on Alec’s lap - who freezes entirely, keeping his hands securely locked against his sides before he can do something stupid like touch Magnus - and turning the pages quickly.

“Oh, Alec, this is so boring,” he exclaims dramatically. “Why must you insist on making me learn about something so dull? And it’s so unfair.” His voice is dragging with every vowel, and he is whining more than talking, staging boredom flawlessly - if not exaggeratedly.

“Stop it,” Alec grunts, throwing him a glare, but Magnus ignores him and keeps turning the pages.

“Muggle sports are so much better,” Magnus goes on even louder, a devilish spark flickering in his eyes. “Jocelind Wadcock, what kind of name is that?” he reads out loud. “That’s the kind of name for someone stupid enough to play a stupid -”

“Don’t you dare,” Alec cuts in abruptly, pushing Magnus’ legs off his lap in his eagerness to point a threatening finger at him. “She’s a legend.”

“A legend to a stupid, unfair sport,” Magnus retorts and looks at Alec with a conceited smirk.

“Fine,” Alec sighs, shaking his head. “You’re a little shit, you know that, right?”

The only answer he gets is a playful wink.

“What did Elias tell you?” Magnus asks again and he doesn’t even bother to hide the mischief in his voice.

Alec runs a hand on his tired features. He hasn’t had much sleep and Magnus can be as exhausting as he is invigorating. He glances up at the ceiling, not quite daring to meet Magnus’ eyes as he says, “He told me it was okay for me to like you because you like me too.”

He utters the words slowly, letting them hang in the air between them with all their meaning and gravity. Magnus doesn’t reply and he remains silent long enough for Alec to get suspicious and dart his eyes to look at him.

He looks perfectly composed, sitting crossed-legged, his body angled towards Alec’s, his back a straight line, his face a mask of calm and poise.

“But you already knew that, didn’t you?” Alec asserts when he is done scrutinizing him for a reaction, although he already knows the answer.

“Yeah,” Magnus admits, utterly unabashed. “I just needed you to say it so we can talk about this,” he adds, gesturing gracefully between the two of them, before leaning to grab his tea cup again, watching Alec through his lashes as he takes a sip.

Alec clears his throat and shuts his eyes, taking a moment to focus. “Yes, I suppose we should,” he murmurs when he opens them again, gazing at Magnus with all the determination he can muster.

“I do like you,” Magnus says, with devastating simplicity.

“I know,” Alec murmurs, but it doesn’t preventing his heart from leaping in his chest. “I like you too.”

Magnus’ shoulders slouch a little and Alec wonders if maybe he didn’t know. Everyone seemed to notice, even a five-year-old who should be clueless about these things, so Alec has giving up on all pretence at subtlety by now.

“More than I should,” he adds in a whisper, as if it could make his confession less substantial than it is.

Magnus smiles at him, small and indulgent, and he reaches out as if to take Alec’s hand but thinks better of it at the last moment and retrieves it, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt instead.

“I can’t do that,” Alec continues. Now that he started talking, the admission seems to blurt out of his mouth easily. “Not right now. There’s too much going on and -”

“I understand,” Magnus cuts in with a smile. “We both have more important things to deal with than whatever is this… thing between us.”

“I wish it was different,” Alec mutters truthfully. “I wish I had met you before all of this. In other circumstances. Better ones.”

Magnus smiles again, albeit a bit sadly. “Me too,” he says.

The silence that settles between them is not heavy, but it’s not entirely comfortable either. It is somewhere amidst the two. It carries the weight of their regrets, of what this could have been in a reality devoid of terrorist attacks perpetuated by bigots and responsibilities, of death threats and the possibility of a blooming relationship distracting them from priorities they would have rather ignored.

“When this is all over, I’ll take you out on a date,” Alec promises, as firmly as he can with the slight tremor of his voice. “A proper one.”

“I’d like that,” Magnus replies softly. “If you can promise me not to bring me to a Quidditch game.”

Alec chuckles, and the sound surprises him, makes something light flutter in his chest. He reaches out to take Magnus’ hand with a confidence he isn’t sure is fully genuine, and rubs his thumb against his knuckles.

“I can’t promise anything,” he says tauntingly, relieved to hear the chuckle it manages to bring out of Magnus, clear and natural.

“Who’s the little shit now?” Magnus retorts, but it is too fond to be insulting.

Alec lets go of his hand to bring his own up to his face instead, stroking his cheek with the back of his fingers and he sees with perfect clarity the effect such a simple touch has on Magnus, his breath hitching in his throat, his lips parting in surprise.

He looks like a sunrise, warm and inviting, full of hope and promises. His burgundy shirt is barely buttoned (like it is too often for Alec to keep his reserve) and trimmed with a gold pattern that seems to follow the lean lines of his body, his light brown skin glimmering in the midday lights coming through the wide windows that give a perfect view of the Forbidden Forest. The gold in his eyes is flickering, but it only makes their warm brown color more dazzling.

Magnus leans just a hint into his hand and exhales deeply through his nose, and Alec realizes just now that he can’t breathe. His body is tickling with the need to get closer and so he does, almost automatically, like pulled by an invisible force he can’t control. Magnus lets him, his eyes shifting from Alec’s to his lips.

Alec knows they have both forgotten entirely about everything they just talked about, but right then, this is desire stronger than he could hope to tame. He just needs to feel Magnus’ lips against his own once, to know what he tastes like, if their mouths would fit perfectly together like he imagined they would. Once, and then they’ll wait. 

He hears the lie in his own head, but that doesn’t stop him.

He brushes his thumb against Magnus’ cheekbone and cups his hand behind his neck to bring him closer, gently but adamantly. Magnus goes willingly, tilting his head up slightly so they’re breathing each other’s air, sharing the oxygen that seems to have run away from their lungs.

And then, a sharp, loud noise makes them both startle. It takes Alec a second too long to realize it was someone knocking at the door of Magnus’ quarters and he blows out a shaky breath, the return to reality brutal.

“I should get that,” Magnus whispers when the noise starts again, with more force this time.

Alec hums in approval. His thumb brushes over Magnus’ ear and he tilts his head up to press a kiss to his forehead, inhaling deeply before he releases him.

Magnus looks up at him almost bashfully, his usual confident demeanor completely forgotten and he clears his throat before rising to his feet. Alec follows him slowly, grabbing his wand on the coffee table by precaution. When Magnus opens the door, Alec lingering a few steps behind him, away from the intruder’s sight, it is Isabelle’s voice that booms to his ears.

“Magnus!” she exclaims loudly. “I’m so glad you’re okay! Have you seen my brother? I went to his room but he wasn’t there and I don’t think he came back at all last night and I’m really worried and -”

“Isabelle,” Magnus cuts in, holding the hand that isn’t holding the door up, and she shuts her mouth abruptly. “Your brother is fine.” He pushes the door open and gestures with a quick jerk of his head to Alec by his side. “He’s here.”

Isabelle heaves out a deep, relieved sigh before marching her way inside, walking past Magnus to head straight to Alec and punch his shoulder with a vigor that makes him swallow a pained moan.

“I was worried sick!” she then yells, as Magnus closes the door swiftly to avoid attracting the attention of the students who could be lurking around in the corridors.

“I’m sorry,” Alec winces. “I woke up not long ago.”

Isabelle is about to reply but she shuts her mouth abruptly and her eyes widen, before a wide wicked grin grows on her lips and Alec realizes his mistake.

“Oh! Merlin’s beard!” she shrieks, or at least Alec thinks that’s what she is doing because her voice hitched so high up he isn’t sure it was even a human sound. “Did you two -” She looks between the two of them, her mouth falling open comically. “Wow, score big brother!” she exclaims and punches Alec’s shoulder again, with far less wrath this time but much more enthusiasm. “Fifty points to Slytherin!”

“Please stop,” Alec grunts in total horror. His whole face feels like it’s on fire and he buries it in his hands, shaking his head in utter despair.

“No, seriously, I’m so happy for you!” Isabelle goes on, oblivious to Alec’s mortification. “It was seriously so obvious you two wanted to -”

“Izzy!” Alec blurts out and she startles, her next words dying in her throat. “We didn’t… do  _ that _ ,” he mumbles shakily. “That’s not why I slept here. Nothing happened.”

Isabelle frowns, and she turns a bewildered glance to Magnus, who nods in confirmation despite his evident amusement, biting his bottom lip to stifle a laugh.

“Oh,” Isabelle says and Alec rolls his eyes at the disappointment both in her voice and on her face. “I was ready to run to tell it to Lydia and Maia. We’ve been speculating about the two of you.”

Alec shakes his head to conceal his discomfort. “You know I hate it when you get excessively involved in my private life,” he chastises her, crossing his arms over his chest as if to scold her. Isabelle doesn’t look impressed. “And after last night, I doubt Lydia would be that excited.”

Isabelle frowns, surprise flashing in her dark eyes. “What do you mean?”

“We had a fight,” Alec replies with a dismissive shrug that doesn’t fully manage to hide the heaviness of the admission. “Last night… Or well, this morning. It was around half past six when we got back and she just jumped at my throat about me being reckless and she really didn’t seem happy about me going out… with Magnus,” he adds after a beat, because he knows it was the core of the problem, no matter how much he dreads it.

Isabelle looks at him quizzically for a moment. “That’s not possible,” she says, with her characteristic assurance.

“Well, I’m telling you what happened,” Alec replies bitterly. “I don’t know what got into her, she really wasn’t herself, but she was… unnecessarily harsh, to me and especially to Magnus. I didn’t recognize her.”

“No, that’s not possible,” Isabelle repeats adamantly, shaking her head firmly. “Lydia wasn’t on patrol last night. She started feeling ill in the evening and she was sent to the infirmary and then to St. Mungo’s for further exams. I got a fire message this morning saying she was okay and it was just a bad reaction to something in her food. She should be back in a couple of hours. She wasn’t in the castle this morning. That’s not possible unless she can be in two places at the same time.”

Alec can’t reply, his mouth dropping open in shock. He shares a bewildered glance with Magnus, who is sporting a perfectly matching look.

“She was there,” Magnus says absently, like the words haven’t fully settled in his mind before he utters them out loud. “We talked to her.”

“The mole,” Alec whispers under his breath before repeating, louder. “Magnus, the mole. They said they were already in!”

“Fuck,” Magnus breathes out, before promptly rising to his feet. “I have to change the password. She probably heard it when we came in.”

“Magnus,” Alec calls out before he can step away and he can feel himself blanching. “She had the map in her hands,” he says, dread pouring out of every word. “The Marauder’s Map.”

Magnus curses again, running a hand in his hair, and heaves out a shaky breath.

“Okay, what’s going on?” Isabelle exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air.

Alec swirls around to face her and narrow his eyes. “Tell me something about myself that you’re the only one to know.” He hates himself for it but if he can’t even trust the people he loves the most to be who they say they are, Isabelle is no exception.

Isabelle quirks an eyebrow and crosses her arms over her chest in a conceited manner that is more of an answer than any spoken words. “Your first kiss was with a Spanish hottie called Pablo that we met when we went on holidays in Barcelona. You didn’t speak Spanish, but you sure practiced the tongue with him.”

“Izzy!” Alec protests, eyes blown in bewilderment. He wonders why he expected anything else from her.

“Well, apart from Jace and I, does anyone else know that?” she replies slowly, a mocking smirk curving the corner of her lips.

Alec grumbles an inaudible answer and steps away to sit on the couch with Magnus, cursing her inwardly.

Magnus isn’t glancing at him, his gaze lost into space and his fingers playing with one of his necklaces absently, and Alec reaches out to stop him. Magnus seems almost surprised to be interrupted, but he blinks, focusing his attention back on Alec. He squeezes his hand as Alec tells Isabelle about their night out, and especially about the scene they witnessed in the alley and what they heard, leaving the details of them being pressed together out. However, he leaves nothing out when it comes to his confrontation with Lydia who turns out to be Not Lydia. By the time he is done, Isabelle’s eyes are deadly serious, but there is a slight trembling to her fingers that Alec only notices because of how well he knows her.

“How do we catch a mole in here?” she inquires, not really addressing anyone. “There’s too many possibilities. It could be a student, or a teacher.”

“Or one of the Aurors,” Alec says, albeit reluctantly. He hates the mere idea of it but they can’t rule out their own troops because they’ve been working with them for a while. Everyone is a potential suspect, and that is what makes all of this so unnerving.

“We need something to recognize when we’re talking to the right person,” Magnus chimes in and it sounds tired and vulnerable, nothing like the strong, unreachable mask he usually displays in public. Alec feels oddly grateful to be among the people Magnus feels comfortable enough with to drop the act and show his true feelings, but he also hates seeing Magnus like this, drained by the reality they live in. He squeezes his hand in comfort, ignoring Isabelle’s knowing eyes. “Like a password,” Magnus continues. “Something so we know we’re talking to the real person in front of us.”

He just finished his sentence when a loud knock makes them jump. Alec sighs, wondering if that’s how things are going to be now: a constant inquietude that every knock on a door brings either an enemy or a bad news.

He doesn’t hide his relief when Magnus opens the door and Luke is the one standing in front of them.

Magnus lets him in, hesitates for a second and eventually heaves out a deep sigh, before looking up at Luke with the fierceness and determination that fit him like a second skin. Alec is still bewildered every time he witnesses how easily Magnus can slip from one to the other.

“Tell me something about myself you’re the only one to know,” Magnus asks Luke, voice firm and definite.

Luke frowns and casts an astonished glance at Alec and Isabelle. “Hello to you too.”

“Just do it, Luke,” Magnus demands.

He is slightly smaller than Luke, but he holds his ground furiously, refusing to back down and Luke seems to immediately understand how serious they are.

“Your relationship with Tanya Pond isn’t strictly professional,” Luke says sternly.

“You make it sound like we’re secretly married,” Magnus snorts, shaking his head. “We’re just friends. But that’s not something that you would be the only one to know. Try again.”

Luke rolls his eyes and gives him a pointed glare. “I was the one who gave the Marauder’s Map to you,” he states.

Magnus hesitates for a moment and nods, turning back towards Alec and Isabelle. “Yup,” he exclaims. “That’s our Luke.”

Luke stares at them bemusedly, brow furrowed in confusion. “Okay,” he says. “I came as soon as I got Alec’s Patronus. What’s going on?”

Alec throws him a sheepish look, and gestures pointedly towards the couch.

“You should take a seat, Sir,” he says.

.

“Let me get this right,” Luke says when Alec is done retelling the story, arms crossed severely over his chest, levelling Alec with an impassible gaze. “You deliberately circumvented direct orders and went to Hogsmeade instead of heading straight back to the castle after dinner at the Fell’s, and stayed out until the wee hours of the morning and then hazardously ended up hidden in an alley because Sebastian Morgenstern and two strangers that apparently are from the Children of Merlin were just coincidentally having a half fight/half meeting there, and then you came back to the castle and you fought with Lydia, who wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place because she spent the night in St. Mungo’s, and now you’re telling me someone somehow managed to break in the castle and take Lydia’s appearance to steal the Marauder’s Map, but took a detour to come and yell at you about Magnus and you being… whatever you two are, I don’t care. Is that all?”

Magnus raises a hand, leaning in his chair to glance directly at Luke. “There’s someone in Hogwarts trying to kill me,” he chimes in. “A mole from the Children of Merlin.”

Luke throws him a bewildered look which probably has much to do with the nonchalance of his tone and Magnus merely shrugs in answer.

“Great,” Luke sighs. “That’s great.” He darts a severe look to Alec. “I could have you dismissed. It’s not like you to ignore orders, especially when it put Magnus’ and your own safety in danger.”

“I know, Sir,” Alec replies, ducking his head somewhat bashfully, playing with the hem of the sweater Magnus loaned him, seeing as they haven’t moved from his quarters ever since they came back from Hogsmeade in the morning. It is slightly too small for his frame, especially in the shoulders, but Magnus doesn’t complain because it is just tight enough to hug the broadness of his arms and although he really doesn’t like the Lightwood parents, he inwardly thanks them for the masterpiece that are Alec’s arms. And pretty much Alec’s everything, but he is digressing.

“Come on, Sir,” Isabelle butts in, a hint indignantly but fully protective. “We’ve all bended the rules once.”

“I’m not adamant on the rules being followed at all time, Isabelle, but when our lives are threatened, it’s another story,” Luke snaps but his eyes remain fixed on Alec. He blows out a deep sigh. “You’re lucky I have a soft spot for you, Alec. Don’t let it happen again. If you want to go on a date with Magnus or whatever, you ask. You don’t just disappear for a night without warning anyone.”

“It wasn’t a date,” Alec protests vigorously, but he catches Luke’s eyes and deflates, mumbling a “Yes, Sir.”

“Good,” Luke says with a nod. “Now that this is settled, we need to figure out a way to catch the mole.”

“First, we need to establish some sort of code to be sure we’re talking to the right person,” Magnus cuts in. He stretches his legs to set them on the coffee table, leaning his weight on the pillows scattered on the couch. “They’re obviously using Polyjuice potion. They already did it once with Imogen’s. If they managed to take Lydia’s appearance as well, who knows who else’s they could use?”

“Yeah,” Luke replies thoughtfully. “This information can’t leave this room, however. We’ll tell Simon, because his life is on the line too. And Lydia and Tessa, but that’s all. The less people know about this, the easier it’ll be to catch the mole. If they start getting suspicious, they might act rashly and it’ll just put Magnus in danger.”

Isabelle and Alec are both on Auror mode now, arms crossed sternly over their chests, brow furrowed in perfectly matching serious expressions, and they nod periodically to approve of Luke’s words.

Magnus clears his throat and his fingers dance in the air for a second before he points one at Luke. “Perhaps that would be a solution,” he says airily, like he doesn’t measure the heaviness of his words. He does, but he knows he has to play it coy to soften the inevitable protests from Alec and Isabelle.

Luke frowns. “What do you mean?”

“They want me,” Magnus remarks offhandedly. “Alone. I mean I don’t mind being bait.”

“No,” Alec grunts out, sharp and undisputable.

“That’s not your choice to make, Alexander,” Magnus replies, levelling him with an impassible gaze. “They were clear about killing me at the first occasion, but only if they could do it without being caught,” he adds gravely, twirling his fingers in the air. “It’s our best option.”

“No it’s not,” Isabelle retorts. “It’s our  _ only _ option, it doesn’t mean it’s the best. We can think of something else.”

“Kids,” Luke cuts in, “this is not our only nor our best option. Magnus, we’re not using you to lure out the mole as long as we have other options. Isabelle, you said Lydia started feeling ill after dinner?” He waits for Isabelle to nod in confirmation before he goes on, “It can’t be a coincidence. Someone probably put something in her food, we should go talk to the elves in the kitchen to see what they know. The food goes straight from the kitchen to the tables magically, so they might have caught something. Secondly, there’s this Not Lydia thing.” He pauses and turns towards Alec, pursing his lips together. “You’ve known Lydia for years. She’s your best friend and your partner. Hell, you were her witness at her wedding.” Alec nods, lifting an inquisitive eyebrow. “So how come you didn’t realize you were not talking to Lydia? It’s not a reproach, but I know you. You normally would have noticed immediately.”

Alec doesn’t reply immediately, but his shoulders tense and Magnus realizes he must have pondered on this same question ever since Isabelle told them that the person they saw this morning couldn’t have been Lydia.

“They knew me,” Alec breathes out eventually and he starts pacing back and forth like it could help him clear his thoughts. “Not Lydia, I mean. They looked at me like they knew me, like they cared for me and were just so disappointed in me and… I mean, why would they be disappointed if they didn’t know me?”

“Was there anything that reminded you of someone in particular?” Magnus asks softly, carefully, and he knows he hit a chord because Alec tenses again, before resuming on his pacing.

He opens and shuts his mouth a few times, seemingly searching for his words. “It doesn’t make any sense. I mean, how would she get in the castle? Our defences are impenetrable and - No, I must be wrong. I was tired. It was early in the morning and we -”

“Alec,” Isabelle calls out gently, rising from the couch to grab his shoulders, holding firmly so he stops marching aimlessly. “Stop. Breathe. Explain.”

Alec obliges, if a bit shakily. “Mother,” he says and hurt flashes in his eyes. “She reminded me of Mother. The way she held herself, the way she talked, the way she seemed so disappointed… and her eyes. It was Lydia’s blue eyes, but they were cold like Mother’s.”

Isabelle takes a step back and releases his shoulders, her lips parting in shock. “You’re sure?”

“No,” Alec says, shaking his head. “I’m not sure of anything but… No one talks to me like she did. No one but Mother.”

“Your parents are on our suspects’ list,” Luke points out, although he does sound apologetic.

Magnus isn’t sure what to do. Alec looks crestfallen and Magnus ought to know how hard it is to be disappointed in the people who are meant to be your role models. He could tell him it’s going to be okay, but that would be a lie. His mother just became their number one suspect and as much as he doesn't want to see Alec suffer through the harsh realization, he has trouble believing her innocence. There is just something about Maryse Lightwood that always made Magnus feel like his mere existence was a bad joke.

This is not going to be okay, he feels it with every nerve of his body, but Alec doesn't yet. He still believes in people. He still believes in his parents’ grandeur.

Magnus may be cynical, but it allows him to shield himself from the pain he can read in Alec’s and his sister’s every subtle movement right then.

“Alec,” Luke says as he rises to his feet, “I’m sorry, but I have no choice but to bring her in to question her.”

“I know,” Alec says, and the defeated edge of his voice makes something painful tug in Magnus’ chest. He wants to reach out, to grab his hand, but he doesn’t quite dare to.

He knows his touch wouldn’t be unwelcome. If their earlier conversation proved anything, it is that the  _ thing _ between them, no matter what it is, is not a product of Magnus’ sometimes wild imagination. It's real, it's deep and it's pure in all the ways that matter, yet untouched by the world's cruelty.

But it also means that Magnus doesn't want to spoil it. It is something to be preserved and protected. They’re not a couple, they haven’t even kissed and Magnus doesn’t know where they stand exactly and he won’t expose their bond - it’s probably the best thing he can call it right now - as long as it remains unclear.

Isabelle heaves out a deep sigh, and Alec and her seem to have a conversation with their eyes only for a couple of minutes.

“Let me do it,” Alec says eventually, turning back to face Luke. “Let me come. I promise I won’t let my judgment be clouded if she is guilty, but please let me come.”

Luke takes in his and Isabelle’s confident and determinate demeanors and he casts a glance at Magnus on the side, who nods gingerly.

“Fine,” he mumbles. “But I’m coming with you. Isabelle, you stay with Magnus. I want you to follow him closer than his shadow as long as we don’t know who the mole is.”

“Can I use the toilets or do I have to ask permission for that?” Magnus drawls, not bothering to conceal the bitterness of his tone.

“I know you don’t like it,” Luke sighs. “I know you value your freedom and trust me, I understand how frustrating it must be for you to be followed around by Aurors.” Luke pauses, darts his eyes in Alec’s direction, a small, mocking smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “Although I have a feeling you don’t mind that much when it’s your favorite one.”

“Oh well, you know me,” Magnus retorts playfully. “I have a weakness for tall, dark, handsome, intelligent, and righteous.”

Luke shakes his head fondly and strides the few steps that separate them, gripping Magnus’ shoulder in a strong, but comforting grip. “It’s only until we catch them,” he pledges. “We’ll get you your freedom back.”

Magnus doesn’t reply immediately, taken aback by the vivacity of his determination and the depth of his dark eyes, but eventually he nods wordlessly.

“Alec will get back here once we are done at the Lightwood manor,” Luke adds, letting go of Magnus’ shoulder to whirl around towards the siblings. “You were right to stay here last night with what you learned. Make it permanent. We’ll find someone to look after Simon.”

“I can do it,” Isabelle offers with an innocent smile that doesn’t have Magnus fooled.

“Of course you can,” he mutters under his breath, hiding his mocking tone with a few strategic coughs. 

Isabelle throws him a murderous glare, but she doesn’t have time to reply because Luke is already talking again, “Isabelle, while we’re gone, take Magnus with you and go question the elves in the kitchen. Alec, let’s go.”

Alec nods and grabs his robes to tug them over his clothes. He drops a kiss on Isabelle’s forehead and walks to Magnus.

“Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone,” he murmurs confidentially, low enough for Magnus to be the only one to hear.

“Right back at you, darling,” Magnus retorts with a smirk.

Alec scoffs, the corner of his lips curving up in a lopsided smile. “How could I do anything stupid when you’re staying here?”

Magnus smiles, small and private. “Not the most flattering thing I’ve been called.”

Alec blinks, but instead of blushing, he rolls his eyes fondly. “Little shit,” he mumbles under his breath.

“There!” Magnus exclaims, sending him a playful wink. “Our code word!”

“Alec,” Luke calls out from where he is standing by the entrance, arms crossed over his chest, cutting short Alec's chuckle.

“Go,” Magnus says, ushering him away playfully.

Alec nods and gives him a long, too deep to be innocent glance and steps away, disappearing through the door with Luke. Magnus stares at the door for a while, his heart pounding in his chest.

“That’s some sexual tension right there,” Isabelle exclaims matter-of-factly.

Magnus snorts and walks into his bedroom to grab his robes.

“Come on,” he says when he steps back in his living room. “If we’re nice enough, I’m sure we can bribe Mimon into baking some pastries for us.”

Isabelle doesn’t seem fooled by his lame attempt at dodging the subject but she shrugs, hooking their arms together and she guides them out the corridors and on the way down the stairs to the kitchens.

.

Alec has always hated the Lightwood manor. From the moments his siblings had joined him in Hogwarts in his third year, he had stopped thinking about it like home.

It had always felt cold to him, in the way only impersonal places can feel. The pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring their way now isn’t helping him feel welcome in a place he yet grew up in.

Alec clears his throat, announces his name and the gates swing open with a morbid creak. He steps forward with all the assurance he can muster, but a long shiver runs down his spine.

“That’s where you grew up?” Luke asks, right on his trail.

Alec hums, but doesn’t reply.

“Shit,” Luke mutters under his breath. “No wonder you’re all badass. You grew up in the house of horrors.”

Alec scoffs, looking up at the manor in front of them. He can understand where Luke is coming from. The imposing manor house is bathing in its usual darkness. Alec never knew if it was some kind of magic, part of his imagination, or just an odd reality, but in this part of England the sky is always grey. It can be a clear grey, but most of the time, it is a dark one, obscured by heavy clouds, just like it is today. It makes the manor look like it just grew out of the darkness in the middle of the forest that surrounds the property. Even the large diamond-paned downstairs windows don’t manage to bring some light to the place.

Luke follows him down the gravel driveway that leads to the front door, and Alec takes a deep breath before raising a hand up to knock. His fingers are trembling and the sound seems to echo in his ears relentlessly.

“Hey,” Luke says softly, patting his back in sympathy, “I know it’s not easy. If it becomes too much, you can back out anytime you want.”

“Yeah,” Alec breathes out, forcing the air back to his lungs. “Thanks, Sir.”

Luke nods just as the door opens and they both look down towards the house elf glancing at them with an equally expectant and bored gaze.

“Master Alexander,” the elf croaks out.

“Hello Church,” Alec says. “Is my mother in? We need to talk to her.”

“Mistress Lightwood is in the drawing room with guests,” Church replies, her big, blue eyes utterly unemotional. “Church will announce you.”

“No, no need to do that,” Alec exhorts quickly. “I know the way.”

The elf frowns, or at least that’s what it would look like if she had eyebrows. In reality, her wrinkled forehead scrunches down.

“The Mistress will be mad if Church lets you interrupt her meeting,” she says, her grave, croaky voice hitching up as Alec ignores her and barges inside.

“There’s a good chance she’ll have more important things to worry about than punishing you, Church,” he replies, all but running to the steps in the imposing hall, taking them two at a time.

“Master Alexander!” Church calls out and she huffs out in irritation before snapping her fingers and disappearing in a cloud of purple smoke.

Alec curses under his breath and picks up his pace. Luckily, the drawing room isn’t too far away, on the first floor and just at the end of the opposite corridor that leads to large panel windows which provide an overall view of the elaborate garden.

Alec bursts the door open, Luke right on his heels, wand held up but when he gets there, his mother is alone apart from Church who gives him a proud, almost smug glance.

“Where are your guests?” he asks, pointing his wand at his mother.

“Oh, they just left,” she responds with a dismissive wave. “Now, what is this?” She gestures between Luke and him, curving an eyebrow. “Did going back to Hogwarts make you lose all your manners?”

“Where were you this morning around six thirty?” Alec blurts out immediately.

He had imagined going for a smoother approach, to coax the answers out of her with subtlety, but the mere sight of her olympian calm in face of the situation is enough to make him forget about the scene he had rehearsed in his head.

Maryse’s eyes flash with surprise, then with panic. It only lasts a second, maybe even less than that, but it is enough for Alec to perceive the truth in her demeanor and his shoulders slouch in defeat, his heart clenching in his chest.

He is going to have to arrest his own mother.

“I was here of course,” she scoffs and Alec could have been fooled if he hadn’t caught this slight moment of weakness a moment ago.

Alec lowers his arm and he stares at the woman in front of him, a stranger with a familiar face.

“Are you one of them?” he murmurs bemusedly and he can feel his skin blanching slowly as realization dawns on him. He balls his hands, digging his nails in his palms, inhaling deeply to remain calm.

“Alec,” Luke whispers in warning, but Alec shakes his head to stop him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maryse replies airily.

“Yes, you do,” Alec grits out through clenched teeth. “You fucking do.”

“We don’t swear under this roof, son. Your…  _ frequentations _ truly have a bad influence on you.”

Something snaps inside Alec and his shock and devastation are promptly replaced by anger. Burning, wild, untamable anger.

“Where’s the map?” His voice is trembling with wrath as he marches his way to her slowly, each step heavier than the preceding one.

“Alec,” she snarls coldly, “is this a way to act in your parents’ house? First you barge in without so much as a warning and then you act like I just broke your wand.”

“Does Father know?” Alec asks, halting his steps right before her.

“Does your father know what?”

“That you’re one of them!” Alec yells, his composure immediately forgotten. “That you’re one of the Children of Merlin!”

Maryse huffs out in indignation. “That’s ridiculous,” she exclaims, but this time Alec can hear the lie in her voice.

“How could you do this?” he mutters, as much to himself as to her. “You told us so many times that joining Valentine had been a mistake. You lied to our faces so many times and you’re still doing it now.” 

He pauses, leveling her with an impassible look that somehow doesn’t manage to fully hide the anger and disgust colliding inside his brain. “I know it was you this morning. It can only be you. Lydia would never. Why, Mother?”

“Because I want a better world for my children!” she roars, her face twisting in a vile grimace of wrath. “You deserve a world where you are on the top, where you belong. Your blood is your supremacy and you shouldn’t have to fight for positions that have been stolen by usurpers who are good for nothing but tarnishing our race!”

Alec takes a step back and ache waves through him like she had slapped him. He is quite certain a slap would have been less painful. He grabs one of the chairs tucked against the long, ornate table that is the only decoration of the room apart from the paintings on the wall, and lets himself fall on it, burying his head in his hands.

“Shut up,” he growls, pushing his palms against his lids, as if he could just wake up to find out this has all been a dream. “Shut the fuck up.”

Maryse chuckles darkly. “Refusing to hear the truth doesn’t make it any less veracious. Our generation failed. We let our world, our whole society be invaded by these… these  _ parasites _ . Now we are fixing what we did wrong.”

He can see Magnus’ beaming, playful grin flashing behind his closed eyelids, but there is also Magnus’ haunted eyes, the burden of being born as he were weighing on his shoulders when it never should be a burden in the first place, and his words, sometimes so cynical and defeated.

Alec is furious, furious at their society for making Magnus feel shunned when his luminous presence should be praised, furious at his mother for being one of those who contributed in spreading those archaic ideas, furious at himself for not seeing what was right in front of him.

“You murdered innocent people is what you did,” Luke butts in and he steps closer carefully, his wand pointed straight at Maryse’s chest.

Maryse glances up at him and her upper lip twists in a disgusted grimace. Alec jerks up to his feet, and before he can think about what he is doing, his wands is digging into her neck. His blood is boiling with such a rage that it borderlines on madness.

“We were at the Quidditch game,” he hisses, and his hand trembles around his wand. “Jace was hurt.”

“I was promised you’d all be safe,” Maryse replies. “I was protecting Jace with a spell myself, but he was too close to the explosion. Why do you think he survived? He never should have with how close he was to the blast.”

“And what if your spell hadn’t worked?” Alec roars. “We were all there! Max was there!”

“But you survived,” she states, taciturn.

“You murdered innocent people!” He tries to calm himself, to get his rage under control, but he can’t. The memories of that day are colliding in his mind, and with them, the deep blue but hollow eyes of the little boy he had found in the ruins of the stadium. “I had to carry dead bodies out of the ruins to get to the wounded. Children! What wrong did they do to you? They hadn’t even lived their lives yet!”

“We did what we had to do,” Maryse retorts coldly and Alec wants to sob, to cry his sorrows, his despair out. But there is only fury left, raging in his whole body and controlling his every move, every faint tremor of his fingers holding his wand against his mother’s throat. “You can’t build a better world if you’re not willing to burn the old one down, Alec.”

“Operation Phoenix,” Alec mutters under his breath, and Maryse’s eyes flash with surprise. “That’s your plan? Burning it down to build it back from the ashes? And rebuild it with what? How many of you against how many of us? Do you truly think we’d just follow you blindly and stop fighting after you’ve murdered everyone your short-sighted minds deemed unworthy of living?”

“You underestimate the power of fear,” Maryse says, and the way she is so unabashed about it, like she is just commenting on the weather, makes him want to use curses he has never dared to before.

“And you underestimate the power of humanity,” Alec snaps. “If you think I am going to let you go after my friends and murder them without blinking because I am afraid of you and your bigoted companions, think again. If I am not here to defend them, it’ll be because I’m already dead. And I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one.”

Maryse shakes her head, her dark eyes delirious and Alec can’t believe he actually trusted her when she said they changed. “They will kill you too,” she says, and there’s a hint of regret in her voice, but he knows it is terribly misplaced. “They have already heard about your appalling infatuation. You’ll be considered as a traitor to your blood.”

“Then that’s probably what I am,” he grits out.

“I didn’t have much hope in you anyway,” she asserts. “With your other deviant life choices, I shouldn’t be surprised that you went and let yourself be seduced by a Mudblood. I’m so disappointed in you, Alec.”

“Don’t you dare call him that,” he growls in warning, stepping closer. She cowers against the nearest wall, but Alec follows her, his hand now steady and determinate. “You’re the only disgrace here.”

“Well, that’s what he is,” Maryse mutters, repulsion evident in her dark eyes. “He’s a Mud-”

“Shut up!” Alec yells, equally angry and desperate. “Shut up! Stop it!”

He shuts his eyes, inhales deeply through his nose, tries to swallow past the lump in his throat, in vain. When he opens them again, her face is a mask of sheer, blatant hatred.

“Who are you?” he whispers, his shoulders slouching in defeat. His whole body suddenly seems drained of its energy and he can’t even bear to hold her gaze, to read in her eyes what an awful person she truly is.

“I’m a worthy heir of Merlin,” she says.

In his line of work, Alec has met insanity before. Sometimes, people are beyond saving, trapped in their own minds, in a whirlwind of chaos and sheer madness. But he has never seen cruelty like he sees it in his mother’s eyes now. There is a truth, certainly, in the fact that people are never so fully and enthusiastically evil than when they think they are doing it for a greater cause, something bigger than themselves.

His mother is a fanatic, Alec ponders to himself, and he won’t be able to make her change her mind no matter what he says, because she will fall back on her prejudiced opinions to justify her actions as if they could be excused.

The line between fanaticism and barbarism is a thin one and it has been irremediably crossed.

There is nothing left for Alec to do.

Hatred is a devouring fire, and it has consumed the stranger in front of him completely.

“Does Father know? Is he part of this too?” he asks, fighting to keep his composure. All he truly wants is to run away, as from as possible from her as he can. He doesn’t want to let himself be exposed to her repulsing presence any longer.

“Your father is too much of a coward to do what needs to be done,” Maryse scoffs. “No, he doesn’t know.”

“Where’s the map? The map you stole from the castle?” Luke butts in, taking another careful step closer.

“I don’t have it,” she says. “What use would I have of it outside of Hogwarts?”

“How did you get in?” Alec asks. His voice has lost its fight and he realizes it, but he can’t bring himself to get it back. He is exhausted and it is all too much to take in.

Maryse doesn’t reply, the corner of her lips curving into a smirk.

“How did you get in?” he repeats, leveling her with a cold, disillusioned look.

“Putting up wards around the castle was a good idea, but these are quite useless if we can get in from the inside,” she taunts and Alec wonders where he finds the courage not to hit her or curse her into next week.

“Alec,” Luke calls out cautiously. He stops right next to him, holding his hands up, like he is afraid Alec is going to turn into a wild beast and rip his throat out. “Let her go. We’ll finish the questioning in our office. I’ll take her to Azkaban once we’re done.”

“You can still join us,” Maryse murmurs to him, just low enough for Luke not to hear her. “It’s not too late. They’ll forgive you.”

“I’d rather drop dead right now,” he hisses back, sending her a murderous glare, digging his wand deeper against her throat.

“Alec, make the right choice here.”

Alec sighs, and his remaining anger ushers to a secluded corner of his mind to be replaced by an overwhelming sense of defeat, pain and, buried beneath it all, sadness swirling together in a staggering chaos.

“I already have, Mother,” he murmurs and lets his arm fall, grabbing hers instead to push her towards Luke, who immediately cast a spell around her wrists.

“Maryse Lightwood, you are under arrest,” Luke tells her gravely.

He barely has the time to finish his sentence when the door of the drawing room bursts open and Robert barges in. He stops dead in his tracks, takes in Alec’s crestfallen expression, Luke’s stern one and Maryse’s position. She holds herself tall on her feet, her chin high in the air but her jaw is flexing lightly.

She knows what is waiting for her and Alec is somewhat surprised to realize he doesn’t feel sorry for her. His insides are tearing apart, but his brain isn’t doubting for a second that she is getting exactly what she deserves by being sent to the darkness of Azkaban.

Robert takes one look at her and he heaves out a deep sigh, dropping his briefcase on the floor.

“Oh, Maryse,” he breathes out, a thwarted edge to his tone. “What did you do?”

Luke shares a quick glance with Alec and Alec nods, running a hand on his tired features.

“Go,” he exhales. “I’ll take care of him.”

Luke gives him a small smile that is surely meant to be comforting, but Alec can’t bring himself to smile back. His heart clenches in his chest when he catches Maryse’s gaze, cold and unrepentant, utterly unapologetic. Luke murmurs a few words and they disappear with a pop, leaving behind them an empty space and a cloud of smoke.

Alec waits until the smoke has fully disappearing, watching it dance in the air, shining under the lights of the late afternoon coming through the large windows.

“Sit down, Father.”

.

It is already pitch dark when Alec gets back to the castle.

As he makes his way from the lake, where Aurors with special accreditation like him are allowed to Apparate, he walks slowly towards the entrance of the castle. He has his hands tucked in his pockets, observing the way the full moon seems to illuminate the castle and the Forbidden Forest in a whirlwind of colors, mingling perfectly in that unique way only autumn can offer, trees already beginning to paint the scenery in dark reds, bright oranges and crisp yellows.

An icy wind whips through his robes, howling between the thick branches, the vivid leaves drifting in the air and down. It is a silent evening, and Alec can hear the beating of his own heart, barely audible, like the muffled tick of a clock.

His father told him he would take care of announcing the news to Jace himself, but Alec lives under the same roof as Isabelle and Max for the time being, which means the task of telling them falls to him. It’s probably the reason why he takes his time, but after a while, as slowly as he walks, he does end up in Hogwart’s main hall and with no other choice but to gather his courage and step into the Great Hall.

The long, wide tables are already mostly empty save for the few latecomers who have had evening classes.

Max is among them, sitting in the middle of the Ravenclaw table with his eternal companions, Julian Blackthorn and Emma Carstairs. Emma is telling them a story, gesturing broadly with her hands as she does and the boys are laughing, 

Alec almost backtracks, not willing to burst his brother’s carefree bubble. He stops for a moment, watching how happy he looks, here with his friends, ignorant to the reality he is going to be thrown in brutally.

Then, Julian catches his eyes and before Alec can properly compose himself, he says something to Max that Alec can’t hear, jerking his head in his direction.

Max whirls around on his seat and he beams at Alec, wide and cheerful, but his grin promptly disappears when he perceives his undoubtedly crestfallen expression. He frowns and turns to utter a few words to his friends before he stands up.

He strides the few steps that separate them quickly. “Hey, what’s up?” he asks in a low voice, concern dripping off his tone.

Alec digs his nails into his palms and clenches his teeth, forcing himself to look down and straight into his brother’s eyes. “We need to talk,” he says.

“Did something happen?” Max rushes out, following him towards a secluded corner of the room.

“Yeah,” he mumbles. “First I need you to tell me the name of the old owl Father used to have when you were a baby.”

“Idris? Why?”

“I couldn’t remember,” Alec lies, and motions for him to stop when he deems them far away enough. He still casts a spell so the rest of the room can’t hear them.

Alec sees the way a few students track them with their eyes, scrutinizing his every move and he scoffs in annoyance. “What’s wrong with them?” he grits out. “Don’t they know you’re my brother? Is it so weird to see us talk?”

Max casts a look over his shoulders at the group of students and chuckles, playfully elbowing his arm. “No, they just have crushes on you,” he quips tauntingly. “It’s the Auror thing. Apparently, it’s hot.”

“Well, tell them I’m gay and very much not interested in underaged people whether they’re girls or boys,” Alec deadpans.

Max snorts, a wicked smirk growing on his lips. “No, you’re much more interested in my Charms Professor, aren’t you? Does that mean I can an Outstanding to my Charms N.E.W.T exam?”

Alec throws him a pointed glare. “What?” Max exclaims, raising both hands in defence. “What’s the point in you dating my teacher if I can’t bribe him into giving me a passing grade?”

Alec rolls his eyes. “We’re not dating,” he grumbles. “We’re not anything. We’re just… friends.”

Friends. Yes. That sounds like absolute, utter bullshit even in his head, but he is going to stick with that for now.

Max snorts in disbelief and he is about to argue but Alec cuts him off. “Max,” he says gravely. “We really need to talk, and not about my relationship or lack of relationship with Magnus.”

“It’s weird that you call him Magnus,” his brother replies, as if he hadn’t talked. “He’s always been Professor Bane to me.”

“Max, focus, please.”

He straightens on his feet, setting his eyes on Alec and he nods. “Okay. What’s wrong?”

Alec takes a second to gather his thoughts and ponders on the best way to deliver the news.

“I can’t tell you all the details,” he breathes out, “and I’m sorry. I swear I would if I could but I just can’t as long as the investigation is still open but -”

“Alec, slow down,” Max cuts in with a frown. “What’s going on?”

Alec takes a deep breath, “I had to arrest Mother today,” and exhales.

He can still feel the burden weighing on his shoulders, but telling the words out loud eases it a little.

“What?” Max exclaims, loud enough that the few inquisitive gazes looking their way seem to notice something is wrong even though they can’t hear a thing. Alec throws the few curious a murderous glare and they quickly dark their eyes away.

“I had no other choice,” Alec whispers, tugging Max closer to him by the sleeve of his robes. “She’s one of them.”

“One of what?” Max echoes bemusedly, his brow knitted together.

“One of  _ them _ ,” Alec repeats, but Max seems clueless despite the emphasizing he puts on his tone. He sighs, running a hand in his already disheveled hair. “The Children of Merlin,” he whispers, and it is the second time he says it out loud today, but it still feels like someone keeps punching him in the gut over and over.

Max blinks and then he takes a step back, his face a mask of pure shock. “It’s not funny, Alec.”

“I’m not joking,” he says hastily. “Come on, I barely ever joke. Do you really think I would choose something like this to start?”

“You’re talking shit,” Max snaps, and Alec knows his spell offers them the illusion of privacy, but he still feels utterly exposed. “We were at the Quidditch game. She’d never put our lives in danger.  _ Never _ .”

“Max,” Alec sighs, and his voice trembles, but he doesn’t try to hide it. Not to Max. “She confessed. To me.”

He reaches out to grab his shoulder, but Max smacks his hand away before he can so much as brush him.

“Stop lying!” he exclaims. “You don’t know what you’re talking about! She changed, okay? You’re just mad at her because she can’t accept the fact that you’re gay! I get it, okay? It sucks and Mother and Father both acted like assholes and trust me, I’m mad at them for that too but if that’s your way to get revenge -”

“Max, that’s not what this is,” Alec cuts in, holding both his palms up as if they could serve as a token of his goodwill. “I swear it’s not. She confessed.”

“You don’t know her!” Max yells again. “You left the manor when you were what? Eighteen? You haven’t lived with her in eight years. I would have seen something! She’s not one of them.”

Alec’s stomach twists painfully.

He feels sorry for Max, who is too young to be so powerless in the face of treason. He wants to yell too, to cry out how unfair, how utterly devastating it is. He understands, oh how he understands why Max is angry.

He is angry too. He is furious, because one of the people he should never have to question has just proven to him that it is the people closest to you that can wreck you the most.

He knows, deep down, that Max believes him, that he knows that Alec is telling the truth, that he wouldn’t lie about something like this, no matter how much he wished he could.

But if he is honest, he probably would have reacted the same way if he were in his shoes.

“She’s not one of them!” Max says again, but it’s weaker this time, muffled by the sob he chokes on so obviously.

“I’m sorry,” Alec says, and it sounds like a plea. “I’m so sorry.”

Max shakes his head and his shoulders slouch in defeat. Alec reaches out again but Max steps away from him, holding his hands up to keep Alec at bay.

“Leave me alone,” he mutters, his voice breaking on a sob. “I just need to be alone.”

And he storms out of the Great Hall, their shoulders knocking together as he pushes past Alec.

He stays here for a while, standing tall in the corner of the room, wondering if maybe the darkness slipping through the windows could just swallow him whole and shield him from the unbearable truth.

Maybe then he could ignore the shattered pieces of his heart that he has no idea how to mend back together.

.

“I say it’s one of the Whitelaw brats.”

“Raphael, they’re children,” Magnus sighs, throwing his friend a pointed glare.

“Yeah, well they’re called  _ Children _ of Merlin,” he argues, but the anger in his tone doesn’t give much credit to his words, “so who knows? I don’t like them.”

“You don’t like anyone, darling.”

“Still, you should arrest them,” Raphael says heatedly, pointing a finger at Lydia, who is leaning against the wall of Magnus’ living room, brow furrowed sternly.

“Yes, I’m sure that would go smoothly,” she deadpans. “Hi children, I’m arresting you on behalf of the Auror Department because Raphael Santiago doesn’t like you.”

“I don’t see the problem,” Raphael replies, curving an eyebrow.

“Raphael,” Magnus calls out, rolling his eyes, albeit a bit fondly. “If we start arresting everyone you don’t like, there’ll be no one left in the country. Probably the world. I wouldn’t be safe myself depending on the mood you woke up in.”

“Right now, I don’t like you,” Raphael retorts, but there is the hint of a smile on his lips. He turns towards Isabelle, who is sitting on the velvet chair by the window, a glass of red wine in her hand. “You, I like you. Please arrest him and lock him up somewhere. You can use the excuse of keeping him safe.”

Magnus rolls his eyes again and grabs a pillow to throw it at Raphael’s face, who gasps in indignation. He is about to retaliate when the sound of the front door interrupts him, and they all straighten up, the room filling with tension in the spur of a second.

When Alec walks in, Magnus doesn’t let himself relax, though, because he looks like he just went through hell and back, his hazel eyes hollow if not for the blatant pain he can read in them. His eyes drift over the room but they seem unfocused, like he doesn’t quite see them.

He tugs his robes over his head swiftly and throws them at the back of a chair carelessly, his movements mechanical as if he is pondering thoroughly on all of them.

“Alec,” Lydia says, pushing off the wall to walk to him. “Hey.”

Her voice is soft, gentle, but Alec startles anyway. He blinks at her twice, and he seems to relax a little, but tenses back almost immediately.

“What did we have for dinner on the first night of our first year here?” he asks, and the words seem to physically pain him.

Magnus wants to stand up, to take him in his arms and absorb his ache in the shelter of his embrace, but he remains immobile, watching Lydia approach him like she would a snake ready to bite.

“Squid,” she says, with an amused smile that Magnus doesn’t quite understand.

Alec heaves out a deep breath and strides his way to her in one step, tugging her into his arms with a relieved sigh. Lydia’s eyes widen in shock and her arms float in the air for a moment before she wraps them around Alec, stroking his back gently.

She murmurs something in his ear that Magnus can’t hear but that has Alec’s body relax even more. He nods against the top of her head. She looks minuscule in his arms, but then again, Alec is impossibly tall and everyone looks small next to him.

When he pulls back from Lydia, it is Isabelle’s turn to step closer and she tilts her head slightly to the side, sending him a worried glance.

“Are you okay?” she asks, small and yet fiercely protective all at once. “How did it go?”

Pain flashes in Alec’s eyes again and Magnus knows.

He didn’t have much doubt before, and he isn’t truly surprised, but it doesn’t prevent him from feeling a burst of rage surge in his chest. Nothing that makes Alec Lightwood - impossibly sweet, infuriatingly good Alec Lightwood - look as dejected and discouraged as he does now can leave Magnus indifferent.

“She’s one of them,” Alec says in a small voice. “I… Can we talk about it tomorrow, please? I don’t want you to hate me too. I really can’t take anymore today.”

“What?” Isabelle exclaims, but she softens immediately, bringing a hand up to push a few strands of loose hair away from her brother’s forehead. “I could never hate you. You’re my favorite person in the world.”

Alec scoffs but it sounds choked out, and by Merlin and all the Muggle gods, Magnus hates Maryse Lightwood for doing this to her children as much as he hates her for everything else she represents.

“How did it go with the elves?” Alec asks, clearing his throat in an attempt at composing himself. They all act like they didn’t see his slight moment of weakness and Alec seems somewhat grateful.

“They didn’t remember anything out of the ordinary, but Magnus cast a spell on them and he found the trace of an Obliviate spell on Mimon. Not a strong one, but it was enough to erase their memories of the night,” Isabelle explains.

“Did you already send your report to Luke?” he asks, but he doesn’t fully manage to get back to his usual Head of Auror strict and ruthless demeanor.

“Yes,” Isabelle replies with a nod. “He said he’d contact Ragnor Fell to see if he knows a potion that could give them their memories back, at least temporarily.”

“Okay,” Alec breathes out. “If anyone can do it, it’s Ragnor.”

There is a short silence after that, heavy with doubt and the weight of the reality they are drowning in despite their best efforts. It’s like they don’t know what to say, because it is evident that nothing they could say would be either to soothe their worries or ease their pain.

Magnus doesn’t let it drag for too long, his skin itching uncomfortably with the awkward atmosphere floating in the room.

He uncrosses his legs and claps his hands, effectively capturing the attention of the room. “Alright,” he announces solemnly, “we’ll talk about this tomorrow night. We’ve all had a stressful day and we won’t be productive tonight anyway. We all need a quiet, relaxing evening for now.”

It takes a moment, but eventually they all seem to shoot back into action and start leaving Magnus’ quarters slowly. Isabelle gives her brother a hug that is far too long to be meaningless, but she eventually goes after Lydia and Raphael.

Then, the room is empty and awfully silent.

Alec stays where he’s been all this time, standing in the threshold of Magnus’ living room, looking equally wrecked and out of place.

Magnus doesn’t stand from the couch but he tilts his head to catch his eyes, which are lost somewhere between the books on the coffee table and Magnus sitting at the end of the couch.

“Izzy and I went to fetch your things,” he says softly, trying his best not to startle him. Alec blinks and focuses his eyes on him, with an impassible intent that has Magnus shivering. “I put everything in the bedroom, if you want a shower and a change of clothes.”

Alec nods, but doesn’t speak. He walks into the bedroom leisurely, as if he is not quite conscious of the movements of his body. Magnus follows him with his eyes until he shuts the door behind him and heaves out a deep breath.

He rises to his feet to walk to his liquor cabinet and pours himself a glass of Firewhiskey. He hesitates a moment before he pours another one for Alec and goes back to his spot on the couch, setting both glasses on the table.

He can’t get the image of Alec’s dejected, haunted eyes out of his head, and he thinks of Maryse Lightwood, of how he despises her, of how she seemingly took part in terrorist attacks to get rid of people like Magnus who never asked to be born the way they were. He thinks of this world they live in, one that manages to crush even the purest of people, one that teaches children that hope is a foolish thing because violence is a fatality.

He thinks of the injustice of it, of those innocents who were killed for a supremacist ideology that shouldn’t exist and perdure in their modern age, of the threats that hover above all of their heads, of his friends, tucked away in a safe house.

And he wonders if he could find a place, a safe haven, where he could let this reality brush over him but never affect him, where he could be himself without having to plaster on his face a strength he doesn’t quite feel anymore.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t even hear Alec coming out of the bedroom, but when the couch dips next to him, he turns his head to look at him. His hair is still wet from the shower and he is wearing sweatpants and one of his shapeless sweaters that Magnus has somehow grown fond of. It makes him look inviting, like Alec could envelop him in his arms and shield him from the constant attacks of the outside world.

“Are you okay?” Magnus whispers, leaning in to grab the glass on the table and hand it to him.

Alec gives him a small, sad smile. “I had to arrest my mother today,” he murmurs back, “and my little brother hates me for it. Can’t say I had the best day of my life.” 

He sounds bitter, but also so incredibly sad that Magnus feels his heart clench in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he replies, because it seems like the right thing to say.

“Not your fault my mother is a racist, prejudiced bigot,” Alec says rancorously and he shakes his head, like he is still trying to make sense of it.

“I’m still sorry,” Magnus mutters and he holds a hand out, letting Alec make the final decision of taking it.

Alec sighs and he places his untouched glass back on the table before curling up on the couch, setting his head on Magnus’ lap, playing with his fingers absently. Magnus blinks and his heart skips a beat, but his surprise is short-lived and his body stirs into action on its own accord.

Magnus levitates his glass to the table, unwilling to move and disturb the calm they somehow managed to find. He lets the fingers of his now free hand card through Alec’s hair, massaging his head slowly and carefully,  twirling strands of his messy, damp hair around them.

Alec heaves out a deep breath and stops playing with Magnus’ hand to interlace their fingers instead. The energy seems to be draining out of his body, his eyes closed in a blissful serenity they both know won’t last long.

“No wonder she didn’t want me to become an Auror,” Alec whispers, and there’s the hint of a joke in his tone, but it is faded out by his obvious exhaustion.

Relief waves through Magnus all at once. It’s not much, but the mere fact that Alec is trying to make a joke out of a disastrous situation is telling him that he can be stronger than this, than he can endure whatever comes his way.

“She was probably afraid you’d go and enamour yourself with a Mudblood you were meant to protect,” he mutters teasingly, his thumb brushing over the bridge of Alec’s ear.

Alec huffs out a quiet chuckle, short but incredibly alleviating.

“Well now it’s done so suck it, Mother,” Alec replies, soft and tired. He tightens his hold on Magnus’ hand, bring it to his mouth to press a feathery kiss on the back.

Magnus feels his heart jump in his chest, his words failing him.

This is not the right time, but then again, he isn’t sure the time will ever be right for them, not in the world they evolve in.

There is too many awful things happening around them, and Magnus knows they both hate that they are too powerless to stop them.

There is this, though: Magnus likes Alec, and Alec likes Magnus and even though it could seem complicated, it is actually quite simple.

It means that even in the worst of times, they can hold on to the good thing in their life and this,  _ them _ , this is going to be good.

Magnus doesn’t think they could respond to the overflowing hatred any better than by showing them the possibility of love, and how strong it makes them.

He doesn’t know if this fortuity will truly turn into agonizing, mind-blowing, heart-stopping love, but if it does, Magnus has no doubt that it will be one strong enough to move mountains.

_ And the Children of Merlin can suck it. _

“That’s the spirit, darling,” he eventually murmurs, but Alec is already asleep.

.

The North Sea is buzzing with its dormant strength, waves crawling gently to the shore, drenching the stony walls of the fortress of Azkaban. Dark shadows are dancing in the air, sucking the air out of all light.

The deafening noise of an explosion cuts through the dark, quiet night, but the clamor is short-lived, quickly replaced by the tedious sound of footsteps on the damp tiles of the corridors.

A gate opens with a creak, ripping through the morbid atmosphere like a deadly promise.

Valentine Morgenstern turns away from the irons bars condemning the tiny window of his cell to face the intruders.

“Finally,” he murmurs, a slow, wicked grin growing on his face. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, cupcakes!
> 
> Let me know what you thought of this chapter.
> 
> This was beta'd, like always, by the amazing [warlocksrune](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Next time: Politics are back (I'm sure you can guess why), Sebastian is a little shit, Magnus gets into trouble. The really bad kind of trouble. Alec isn't happy about it.
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit) ❤
> 
>  
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	8. We are all human, aren’t we? Every human life is worth the same, and worth saving.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> It's been awfully long and I'm really sorry but inspiration was being a bitch so I kicked her ass and now we're good. For now. I think.
> 
> There's a lot of politics in this chapter, you've been warned!
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Ps: If you're live-tweeting, don't forget to use the #lecrit hashtag or to tag me. ;)

A week passes, then two, and Magnus thinks time might have frozen completely.

The news of Valentine’s evasion from Azkaban travelled fast and it left in its wake a heavy atmosphere laying around. It spread all the way to Hogwarts, and even the most clueless of children now look wary, as if they expect Valentine to burst into the Dining Hall at any moment.

Magnus has heard the news from Luke, who keeps the Aurors in Hogwarts updated and this is how he knows that they are nowhere near catching Valentine. Ever since he escaped from Azkaban with the help of a few of his minions, who remain unidentifiable, it’s like he vanished from the surface of Earth, and despite the Auror department having all hands on deck, their efforts to find him continue to be vain.

Judging by the radio silence the man has carefully engaged in since he evaded, Magnus is worried too. He has never met the man, but he knows Valentine is not only famous for the killings he perpetrated and the putrid ideas he vehiculated in his time of glory, but also for his arrogance. Keeping silent is not his style.

Magnus can’t get rid of that feeling at the back of his mind that this is going to change soon, and that when it happens, it will affect everyone.

Valentine is dangerous, not only because he is insane - although that does play a part - but because he is charismatic. Magnus is acutely and painful aware, from the rumors, the legends, the myth that formed around him, that his reputation is well deserved.

His son has the same eyes, Magnus ponders to himself as he walks with Alec through the corridors of the Minister of Magic, scrutinizing the posters placarded all over the walls. Even on the moving pictures, Valentine’s face is distorted by a disgusted grimace and, in that, Sebastian and him are different. Where Sebastian shows nothing but boredom and condescension on his features, Valentine doesn’t try to hide the hatred from his face. He wears it proudly, like a warning flag.

On some of the posters, Valentine is laughing. It makes him look like a madman, his eyes flashing with folly, and it sends a shiver down Magnus’ spine.

Alec is walking quickly enough that Magnus almost has to trot to keep up with him, but he is somehow grateful for the effort, because it means he can’t fully stop to look at the face of the man who wants his kind eradicated for long enough to let fear creep inside his bones and his blood.

“You know we’re not late, right?” Magnus pants anyway, because Alec looks like he will start running soon. “We’re ridiculously early, even.”

“I know,” he says, but his tone is rushed.

Alec is like a ticking bomb.

The Muggle expression may be meaningless in the world they live in, but Magnus sees nothing else to explain it.

Since that dreadful day two weeks ago when he had to arrest his mother, he has been restless, and Magnus would know better than anyone else because they share his quarters.

And since Magnus hasn’t been sleeping much either - he wonders if there are still people in the country who can sleep peacefully in those dark times and if so, he envies them - he can hear him moving around at night, reviewing again and again and again everything they have gathered on the Children of Merlin so far.

Which, if Magnus is completely honest, isn’t much.

The only things they know for sure can be counted on one hand.

One, Maryse Lightwood is one of them, and it is very likely - but again, not proven - that their leaders are former Circle members.

Two, Sebastian Morgenstern knows who they are, but he isn’t their leader and he has no position of power in their organization, although he will benefit from their actions, in a way they apprehend but don’t comprehend yet.

Three, they have infiltrated Hogwarts and are very likely to have the Marauder’s Map between their hands.

Four, they are batshit insane and Magnus wishes he could curse the shit out of them all one by one. Or punch them all in the face. He doesn’t even need his wand.

Perhaps the last point isn’t extremely useful for their investigation, but it is a fact nonetheless.

Alec stops abruptly right before they turn in the corridor that leads to the meeting room and swirls around to face Magnus, who bumps into him with a quiet gasp. Not that he minds. Truth be told, he never minds bumping into Alec.

“There’s something I need to say before we get to the meeting,” Alec says then, lowering his voice, although the place is deserted.

“Is it something kinky?” Magnus asks, smirking. “Please say yes.”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“No,” Alec deadpans, rolling his eyes.

Magnus pouts, but Alec doesn’t seem very impressed and he throws him a glare.

He grabs Magnus’ hand and leads him in a quiet corner at the end of the corridor, hidden in the dark shadows.

“Darling, it’s not that I mind being manhandled by you, on the contrary, but you’re worrying me,” Magnus says, frowning.

Alec heaves out a deep breath, letting go of Magnus and taking a wary step back. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “I’m a bit stressed out.”

“Alexander,” Magnus says, brow furrowing in worry, “what’s going on? Is it about your mother?”

He shakes his head in denial, but it isn’t quick enough to conceal the way his hazel eyes flash with hurt. They haven’t really talked about it, because Magnus knows Alec is still somehow mourning. Maryse Lightwood is not dead, but what she did, in the eyes of someone as loyal and intricately good as Alec, is bound to the same results. Alec is grieving in a way, if not his mother, then the idea he had of her: not perfect, certainly not ideal, but not as evil as she turned out to be.

It takes a second too long, but Alec inhales deeply and leans in again, dropping his voice to a whisper. “I have a bad feeling.”

“I’ve had lots of those lately,” Magnus says bluntly. “You’ll have to be more specific, darling.”

“That meeting,” Alec says, pointing behind his back in the vague direction of the place where the meeting is going to take place. “If it’s about Valentine evading like we think it is, why did they wait two weeks to have it? Why not the next day, or the day after that?”

Magnus pushes his lips together. “I don’t know,” he admits, and the words feel heavy on his tongue. “We’re all busy people in the Council.”

Alec’s eyes dart to the side and Magnus follows his gaze by instinct but the corridor is still decidedly empty. When he is satisfied that no one is actually spying on them, Alec turns back to Magnus and grabs his hand again, toying with his fingers nervously. Magnus is a bit bewildered by the gesture, but he doesn’t try to claim his hand back.

“I don’t like this,” Alec murmurs and Magnus almost doesn’t hear him, eyes focused on the long fingers spinning one of his rings around his index. “I- I just need you to know that if anything happens, I’ve got your back, okay?”

Magnus thinks Alec Lightwood might be trying to kill him in much more efficient ways than the Children of Merlin.

He nods once, lost for words, and Alec relaxes slightly, sending him a small, crooked smile.

“You need to stop doing this,” Magnus growls, shutting his eyes.

“Doing what?” Alec asks, brow furrowing in confusion, lips parting slightly.

Magnus levels him with a glare, gesturing vaguely with his free hand at Alec’s face. “This,” he says pointedly. “Giving me that smile and being sweet and just being your regular caring, gorgeous self. We said we’d wait until this whole shitstorm finally calms down to see what  _ this _ -” he makes a flourish, his fingers dancing between the two of them “- is exactly and you’re not helping tame my self-control.”

Alec bites his bottom lip, trying to conceal a lopsided grin, but he only succeeds in looking more appealing and Magnus sighs, unable to hide a smile of his own.

“You can talk,” Alec says, squinting his eyes in an accusatory expression. “You’re the one who keeps throwing all those innuendos at me.”

“Well, you’re teaching me about Quidditch,” Magnus argues reasonably. “The innuendos are just too good to pass on.”

Alec chuckles, his whole body unwinding at once and Magnus can’t help but feel pride flutter in his chest at the sight. Alec’s laugh is a precious thing, light and clear but far too rare, and to be the instigator of one of them is a reward on its own.

The distinct sound of footsteps echoes in the corridor and Alec takes a step back, letting go of Magnus’ hand to walk back towards the meeting room. They stumble into Sebastian before they get to the door and all of Magnus’ efforts to get their minds off of the mess they are stuck in are wasted, vanishing into thin air as soon as his cold, black eyes settle on them.

“Bane,” he says, impassive, completely ignoring Alec’s presence.

“Morgenstern,” Magnus replies. “How’s Daddy Dearest? Came to fetch you out of the playground yet?”

Sebastian’s jaw flexes as he grits his teeth, his upper lip tipping up in a disdainful manner. “Be careful with what accusations you throw around, Bane. You might piss off the wrong people,” he hisses, taking a step forward. “Your pet Auror might not always be there to protect you and who knows what could happen then?”

“And what would happen exactly?” Alec asks, seething.

He moves to stand in front of Magnus, shielding his body with his own, squaring his shoulders and his eyes are sharper than Magnus has ever seen them, equally resentful and challenging.

Sebastian scoffs, his lips curling up at the corner. “Cute,” he snarls. “Is it in your prerogatives to bed your missions, Lightwood, or did you fall for his little number like many before you?”

Magnus balls his fists, ready to throw one right in Sebastian’s face, but Alec snorts, crossing his arms over his chest as he stands taller on his feet, towering above Sebastian with all his height.

“Don’t be petty just because he never hit on you,” he says, a mischievous spark glimmering in his eyes. “Some people have standards and they don’t have to be quite high not to include you.”

“For a Slytherin, green really doesn’t suit you,” Magnus adds with a smirk.

Sebastian’s face contorts into a grimace of pure rage and Magnus wonders if he is going to stomp his foot on the ground like a spoiled child - which wouldn’t surprise him - but before he can reply, Luke and Ragnor are turning around the corner, joining them in two strides and soon enough, they have to get inside the room so that the meeting can start.

When Tanya walks behind her desk, hovering above the rest of the room with her usual poise, Magnus notices that something is wrong immediately. The corner of her mouth is twitching with annoyance and her teeth are clenched, and Magnus thinks, dread creeping into his bones, that Alec might have been right.

Alec must sense it too because he tenses next to Magnus.

In front of them, on the other side of the amphitheater, Sebastian is sprawled in his seat with all his characteristic nonchalance, looking as bored as ever. Behind him, Luke is sporting his perfect soldier facade, and Magnus notices for the first time how his posture and Alec’s are similar, both arms on the table, fingers hooked together, chin up in the air as if they await orders.

The empty chair where Maryse Lightwood used to sit is empty, and so is Robert’s next to hers, and Alec pointedly avoids looking that way, focusing on Tanya instead.

Aline is there too, sitting in her corner, a flying pen dancing in front of a piece of parchment, already taking notes.

Then, a group of people walks into the room and it achieves to throw every nerve in Magnus’ body in high alert.

It is not often that the Lords and Ladies of the Clave, the representatives of the people and of the main political parties of the wizarding world, join these meetings. Sebastian is there because he earned it through obnoxious speeches, the public vote and money, but these people are usually never there and when they all are, like it seems to be the case now, it never abounds to good things.

“I smell trouble,” Ragnor murmurs to his right, Lily sitting silently at his side.

Magnus nods, and takes a deep breath. This is going to be a taxing meeting.

Tanya gestures for the newcomers to take their rightful seats in the amphitheater, right in front of her, but she doesn’t talk for as long as it takes them to settle.

Then, and only then, she clears her throat, and speaks.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming today.”

She does something unexpected then, and Magnus knows Alec’s suspicions are completely founded.

She turns towards Sebastian, lips pursed together. “Mr. Morgenstern requested a meeting of the Council in its entirety, as it is his right as a member, which is why you are gathered here today.” She frowns, her eyes darting over the room. “Where is Lady Hopkirk?”

Chatters scatters around the room as the newcomers start looking between themselves to find her, as if she would magically appear there if they look hard enough, but her seat remain vacant and eventually, Tanya realizes no one is going to answer, and she clears her throat, automatically catching the whole room’s attention once more.

“Mr. Morgenstern, if you could inform us all of the meaning behind this, we would be grateful.”

Her voice is sharp, bitter, and Magnus understands she was taken by surprise just as they all are, and if there is something someone as skilled of a strategist as Tanya hates, it is to be ambushed.

Sebastian, on the opposite, looks like he has just been handed the most precious gift of his life and he clears his throat before rising to his feet, leveling the whole room with an impassive look, his black eyes somehow glimmering with excitement.

It does nothing to tame Magnus’ worries.

“It has slipped from no one’s attention that Valentine Morgenstern has escaped from his cell in Azkaban,” he says in a detached tone, like he isn’t talking about his father but a complete stranger. Magnus grits his teeth, refraining the urge to make him remark just that.

“Indeed,” Tanya deadpans.

“And the Auror Department hasn’t been any more successful in finding him than it has been in stopping the Children of Merlin,” he continues, his dragging voice as composed as ever.

“We’ve arrested a few of them,” Luke argues. “We’re still working through the interrogations to get to the leaders.”

“And how is that going?” Sebastian asks, lifting a challenging eyebrow. “You’ve arrested Maryse Lightwood two weeks ago - and let me point out that I don’t think that her son is fit to lead a team of Aurors considering the circumstances -”

“And I don’t think you’re fit to lay a judgment on anyone considering who  _ your _ father is,” Magnus cuts in, throwing him a pointed glare.

“I’m not my father,” Sebastian growls, and Magnus can’t hold back a scornful laugh at that, because he doesn’t think this man can get any more ridiculous.

“Then I think you’ll agree with me when I say Alec is not his mother,” he retorts, and Sebastian purses his lips, throwing him a vicious glare.

For a while, he doesn’t talk and the silence lays heavy in the room, all eyes set on either Sebastian or Magnus, who refuses to give him the pleasure of glancing away.

If he is going to fight all the evils thrown his way, he might as well stare at them right in the eyes.

“Anyway,” Sebastian says eventually, his eyes drifting away to settle on Tanya behind her desk, “that is beside my point.”

“And we would very much like to know what exactly  _ is _ your point,” Tanya says, and it is only because he’s known her for years that Magnus is able to perceive the annoyance beneath the sarcasm in her voice.

“My point is that you and your government have proven how inefficient you are in front of the threat that the Children of Merlin represents,” Sebastian stays. “Time and time again. And sadly, the consequences are deadly for the citizens of this country.”

Tanya’s brow furrows in irritation. “I know we live in the world of magic, Mr. Morgenstern,” she says coldly. “But that doesn’t mean we can conjure a magical solution to solve our problems. My government, the Ministry of Magic, and I are doing the best we can in the circumstances we are faced with.”

“I don’t have a magical solution,” Sebastian replied with a nod, “but I do think someone more suited to rule than you appear to be could deal with this issue more efficiently than you clearly are.”

Magnus gasps quietly when he understands where this is going and Alec’s head jerks to the side to look at him, quirking an inquisitive eyebrow.

“The bastard,” Magnus mutters under his breath in lieu of an answer. “Let me guess,” he adds, louder. “And that person would be you?”

Sebastian turns to face him and his lips pull into a smirk that is meant only for Magnus, but it disappears as soon as he whirls back around to look up at Tanya, who is standing behind her desk, her features unreadable.

“If I can serve the wizarding world, I will do so with honor,” he tells the crowd, who seems to be hanging to his every word. “But this isn’t about me, this is about finding solutions to the issues we are currently facing, and I believe our ruling leadership has proven itself to be severely lacking.”

This is because he is staring directly at Tanya that Magnus can see how her already pale skin blanches even further when Sebastian says out loud what Magnus has been dreading.

“I call for a vote of no-confidence.”

The silence that follows is heavy, but short-lived.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” Magnus blurts out before he can stop himself - not that he would necessarily have.

Sebastian curves an eyebrow, staring back at him. “If I was joking, you’d know.”

“Oh, I don’t think I would since your definition of fun is probably torturing your house elves or killing innocent animals for all I know,” Magnus barks. “Do you even realize what you’re doing right now or are the Children of Merlin pulling the strings for you?”

“Magnus,” Alec hisses next to him, low enough for only him to hear. “Don’t.”

But Magnus is too angry to pay him much attention.

“Our entire society is falling apart because of a group of fanatics who spread terror and death and you want to dismantle it even more by pushing out our current leader?” he exclaims, and his voice is trembling with wrath but he doesn’t try to hide it. “Do you really think we need this kind of instability right now?”

“The only instability I worry about is yours considering you just accused me of working for a terrorist organisation,” Sebastian says, his dark eyes frustratingly calm.

“Oh, shut up, Morgenstern,” Magnus scoffs annoyedly, rolling his eyes. “Your father escapes from Azkaban and two weeks later you decide to ask for a vote of no-confidence? And you expect us to believe it’s all a big coincidence?”

“My father escaping from Azkaban is what motivated me into doing this,” Sebastian argues. “I know how dangerous he is. He can’t be caught by amateurs.”

“If you think you know our job better than we do,” Luke cuts in, tone as professional as ever, “please point us in the direction of Valentine and we’ll be happy to arrest him.” His fingers twitch slightly on his desk, and that is the only indication of the wrath that must be raging inside him just like it does in Magnus.

He knows, rationally, that he should keep his mouth shut, that it is not his place to speak up for Tanya because she can very well do it herself, but he is angry, angry at Sebastian, angry at the world they live in that allows people like him to have any form of power. Giving power to someone like Sebastian - and especially power as large as the one that comes with the position of Minister of Magic - would be suicidal. Magnus might as well just sign his death warrant already. But it even isn’t about him, it is about the entire wizarding world.

It would be condemning them all.

“See?” Sebastian snarls, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he turns to face the Clave representatives, the people who now hold the fate of their society between their hands. “That’s what I’m talking about. As soon as you hurt their ego, they bark but the rest of the time, they are completely inoffensive. They are too lenient to do the job we need them to do in those dark times.”

“I think the word you were actually looking for is tolerant, not lenient, you despicable piece of -”

“Magnus,” Alec whispers again next to him, digging his nails in Magnus’ thigh. “Fight with your mind, not with your mouth.”

He purses his lips, inhaling deeply through his nose, and nods gingerly to Alec, who slackens his grip, although he keeps his hand close to Magnus’ leg, a silent support if the need arises.

“Mr. Bane,” Tanya says softly from her place above them all and Magnus glances up at her, blinking away his wrath. For now. “As a member of this Council and the leader of the Wizarding Front, Mr. Morgenstern has every right to call for a motion of no-confidence, just as he has the right to explain his point of view to the Clave representatives here with us. You’ll have the opportunity to argue once he is done.”

Magnus bites his tongue hard enough to draw blood, but he nods, clenching his teeth.

“Now, Mr. Morgenstern, please rest your case,” Tanya says coldly. “Apologies for the interruption.”

“It’s alright,” Sebastian says with a dismissive wave of his hand, dark eyes flashing with disdain. “We cannot expect  _ him _ -” he doesn’t say it, but Magnus can hear the racist slur behind the word, uttered with such disdain, just as well, “- to act according to the rules of our world. He is, after all, from another culture.”

Magnus takes the blow without flinching, but it is only years of practice, of hearing the same words over and over again that allow him to hold back tears of rage.

Alec’s hand is back on his thigh at once, offering comfort in the only way possible in the crowded room, and Magnus tries to focus on it, to tune his heartbeats to the slight stroke of Alec’s thumb against his pants, but Alec’s hand is trembling too and Magnus wonders if he shares his rage, his powerlessness. He gulps and reaches down to take it in his own, letting Alec lace their fingers together.

It seems like nothing, and perhaps it is, but Magnus lets this simple touch ground him, and he finds himself breathing a little easier.

He listens to Sebastian explain with big gestures and complex words why Tanya is incompetent, why she needs to be removed from her position and alongside her every member of her government and everyone who shows support to her or to the Muggle-born community (he doesn’t say that exactly, but Magnus knows how to read between the lines that the Children of Merlin certainly wrote for him with special care).

He rants for what seems to be hours, about the inefficiency of her methods, with statistics and so-called experts’ opinions to emphasize his words, bringing up testimonies of several survivors of the attacks of August and by the time he is done, Magnus wants to throw up because he can read in some of the Lords and Ladies’ eyes an ounce of agreement that is enough to make the balance shift in their disfavor.

The worst thing isn’t even Sebastian’s speech or the words robotically spilling out of his mouth with the ease of a well-oiled machine. It’s his entire posture, the confidence of his stance, the powerful squareness of his shoulders. It’s like he’s already won, and Magnus has to fight against himself not to get defeatist.

When he is done, Sebastian throws him a conceited glance over his shoulder and Magnus tightens his hold on Alec’s hand, to the point where he has to wonder if he is hurting him, but Alec doesn’t complain or try to pull back.

“Mr. Bane was right,” Lord Carstairs says when Sebastian is back on his seat, casting a quick glance at Magnus. His eyes are the exact same brown as his daughter’s and his tie as blue as the Ravenclaw house they both belong to. “This is not the time for a new election, the people don’t want -”

“The people want to survive,” Sebastian cuts in sharply. “But you wouldn’t understand that because you are part of an elite that is completely disconnected from their reality and -”

“Oh, please,” Ragnor says, his voice heavy with sarcasm. “You’re a bloody Morgenstern, don’t try to make us believe you know how the people is struggling.”

“I know what it’s like to be an outcast,” Sebastian retorts, and Magnus can’t hold back an affronted scoff. “I understand them.”

“You’re a straight, white man and a Pureblood,” Alec intervenes before Magnus can do the same in much cruder words. “Our world has been designed by and for men like you. You’re the furthest thing possible from an outcast.”

“I’m Valentine Morgenstern’s son,” Sebastian replies. “I have been carrying this burden with me all my life, I think I know indeed.”

“No, you don’t!” Magnus explodes, jerking to his feet in a second and dropping Alec’s hand in the process.

His whole body is shaking with wrath and he can’t seem to be able to control it. Every feeling he has carefully buried for years is coming up to the surface and threatening to consume him whole and he just can’t keep his mouth shut.

“You don’t! People judge you for the actions of your father, so what? You be the better man and prove them wrong. It’s really not that hard to be a decent human being! People judge me for the blood that runs in my veins and I can try as much as I want and as hard as I can, my blood will always be tarnished to the eyes of bigoted men. Your father willingly chose to spread death and misery and you inherited his legacy, the morbid reputation he left in his wake, but that’s for you to change it because  _ you can change it _ . This is your choice to make just like it was his choice to murder innocent people, just like it was the Children of Merlin’s choice to kill over three hundred people. Don’t try to feed us your victim bullshit over something you can change if you decide to. You always have a choice. Men like you will always have a choice.”

He sucks in a deep breath, and turns to face the Clave representatives sitting mutely in the amphitheater, watching him with blown eyes. “ _ You _ have a choice,” he tells them, gritting his teeth to prevent his voice from shaking too much. “He is right on one thing,” he adds, pointing a finger at Sebastian. “This will not affect you. You are not the one targeted by terrorists. If you go through with this, you’ll plunge this whole country in chaos but you won’t suffer from it. It’s people like me who will. Because if Morgenstern wins that election, that is what you’re condemning our society to. And that is not mentioning what you condemn Muggle-borns like me to. You’re not targeted today and that won’t change whether Tanya Pond is Minister of Magic or not, because people like you will never suffer from the kind of discrimination we have to face. You are supposed to defend the interests of the people, and especially of the ones who have been the preys of zealots their whole life, not your own. You’re safe, so let the people be safe too.”

He is breathing hard when he finally stops talking and all the eyes in the room are set on him, displaying the entire spectrum of feelings the human range has to offer, and he has to force himself to swallow past the lump in his throat. But he doesn’t deflate, instead he keeps his chin up in the air because that is what he does: he takes the blow and stands back up, ready to fight.

He can feel the mood shift, can see his outburst had at least the benefits of opening their eyes, at least temporarily. He doesn’t need more than a temporary awakening anyway. They can go back to choosing to close their eyes and ignore the wrongs of their society once the Council is closed. He just needs them to vote the right thing now, to reject Sebastian’s motion.

But Magnus’ luck has been abysmal for a few months now, and clearly, the universe has decided that this is not going to change anytime soon.

The doors of the Council open with a clamor and they all watch as a tiny woman makes her way inside, her steps uncertain and her face shy.

She looks up at Tanya and bows her head as if facing a queen - then again, she isn’t entirely wrong, Magnus ponders to himself.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, Ma’am,” she says.

“How did you get in?” Tanya asks, frowning.

“She’s one of my Aurors,” Luke chimes in sternly, before turning a much softer look to the young woman. “Aria, what’s going on?”

“There’s been a murder, Sir,” she says, and Magnus’ eyes settle on the empty seat on the row of Lords and Ladies, and his stomach drops. “It was Lady Hopkirk and her Muggle-born husband, Sir. They used her blood to write ‘traitor to your blood’ on her-”

“That’s enough. We don’t need the gruesome details,” Tanya cuts in sharply, but her skin has paled even more and Magnus knows she has understood, just like he did, that the outcome of the vote has just been sealed.

When his eyes drift to Sebastian, his features don’t display the horror or the surprise he can read on the other faces in the room. His expression is unreadable and as he raises to his feet to speak once more, Magnus knows.

“If the representatives of our world aren’t even safe,” he announced solemnly, “who else can be? Let this awful event be the instigation of a new beginning. Let’s honor Lady Hopkirk and her husband’s memory by making sure this never happens again under a government that closes its eyes and does nothing.”

What he doesn’t say is that Lady Hopkirk was a Pureblood who had married a Muggle-born and that she has been an advocate in the fight for equal rights all along her seventy years of existence. What he doesn’t say is that honoring her memory is not risking to put Sebastian Morgenstern in a position of power that he would without a doubt abuse of.

What he doesn’t say is that - and Magnus doesn’t have an ounce of doubt about it - he knew that would happen and that it would shift the vote in his favor.

There is more debate. Ragnor, Luke, Alec, Tanya and others argue with Sebastian and the few representatives who have clearly join his ranks by now, but Magnus keeps his mouth shut, too stunned to find his words. His mind is a whirlwind, and he has to put his whole attention on breathing properly.

The vote is tied, and the wicked smirk on Sebastian’s lips when the result is announced has Magnus wanted to use curses he never thought he would want to use, unforgivable ones that carry this name for a reason.

Magnus falls back in his seat, defeated, and lets Alec grab his hand again, but the comfort it brings him is only faint.

Sometimes, Magnus forgets that the fact that he is not willing to play with human lives to uphold his ideals of equality and peace doesn’t mean his opponents will do the same.

This is a cruel reminder.

.

The night has already fallen when they get back to Hogwarts and even from the other side of the lake, they can see the lights of the Great Hall glimmering through the long windows, candles flying in the air.

“Do you want to go eat something?” Alec asks Magnus. His stomach is in knots and he isn’t sure what to do to bring Magnus the comfort he needs, because he has no idea how Magnus feels, what he must be going through right now.

Defeat is written all over his face, and Alec wants to tug him into his arms but he isn’t sure his touch would be welcome, especially not now.

“Come on,” he murmurs instead, leading the way to the castle, and Magnus follows mechanically, but he doesn’t seem to know where he is going.

They are just stepping into the hall when they run into Max. Alec freezes, his stomach twisting painfully, and he opens his mouth to talk to his little brother, but before he can utter a word Max is turning around and walking away, ignoring him completely, and Alec’s shoulders slouch in defeat.

“Alec!” Isabelle calls out from the side and she strides her way to them, cursing the students gathered in the hall that block her path. She reaches them soon enough, her high heels clicking on the cold tile. “How did it go?”

“Sebastian made the Council vote for a motion of no-confidence,” Magnus says placidly, on a neutral tone that is miles away from how passionate he had sounded in the amphitheater. “They voted yes. Tanya will stay Minister of Magic until they can organize an election. I’ll let you imagine who has already declared himself candidate.”

“What the -” Isabelle breathes out, but cuts herself off, darting her eyes at the children around them, although they are too far to hear them. “Are you okay?” she asks Magnus, nothing but concern in her voice.

Magnus shrugs, but it doesn’t look half as detached as he had certainly hoped. “I’m splendid,” he says, voice heavy with sarcasm and hurt. “I probably only have months left to teach here - weeks, perhaps - before they come and take me away from that place.”

“Over my dead body,” Alec and Isabelle says in a same voice and Magnus scoffs, a small, grateful smile on his lips.

“Ah, Lightwoods,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“You should go eat something,” Isabelle tells them in a soft voice.

“I’m not hungry,” Magnus replies lowly.

“Me neither,” Alec says.

He knows he can ask Mimon to bring them up some leftovers later in the night, and he sure as hell isn’t going to leave Magnus’ side right now, no matter how hungry he actually is.

Isabelle throws them a disapproving glance but she sighs eventually, her shoulders dropping in defeat. “Fine,” she mutters. “I have to go, it’s time for my patrol. I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Good night, boys.”

“Good night, Iz,” Alec says, and Magnus only gives her a small, contrite smile.

She disappears as swiftly as she had appeared, and when they are alone, Magnus starts walking in the direction of the Ravenclaw Tower but Alec stops him, gently grabbing his arm.

Magnus turns just his head, looking down at his elbow, tucked in a firm grip. “I really want to go to bed,” he murmurs.

“Come with me,” Alec demands, tugging lightly. “I want to show you something.”

There is one thing Alec will never forget despite the years he has spent away from the castle ever since he left Hogwarts, and that is the way to the Quidditch pitch. He knows the sinuous roads that go from the castle to the pitch by heart, from all the practices, the try-outs, the improvised trainings Jace had dragged him to, and it is a time he remembers fondly. He can recall the games he played as Slytherin’s keeper perfectly, and particularly the ones he played against Gryffindor, because it had always ignited a ridiculous competition between Jace and him that had been settled as soon as they were off their broom.

Magnus seems to notice quite early where Alec is leading them and if he slows down a little, he doesn’t stop walking. It is already dark but the pitch is lit up and they can see a few students swirling in the air.

“You know how I don’t like Quidditch?” Magnus asks conversationally. “I don’t like it any better when it’s played by teenagers.”

Alec snorts, but quickly composes himself again when a few students walk past them, greeting them with grunts of either exhaustion or irritation.

“I really thought Santiago was cool,” one of them, a young man with chestnut hair, growls, rubbing his sore shoulders. “I mean… He’s a killer beater but he’s downright awful as a teacher. I’m sore in parts of my bodies I didn’t know existed.”

When they step inside the pitch, the last students are landing, all under Raphael’s cold eyes, scrutinizing them like a hawk.

“Raphael, stop scaring those poor kids,” Magnus says as they join him.

“They’re hopeless,” he grunts. “One of them managed to break his arm.”

“They’re children,” Magnus replies, patting his shoulder gently. “Be nice.”

Raphael scoffs in affront and rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t push him away and that says more about their relationship than the playful banter.

“Anyway, what are you doing here?”

Magnus shrugs, turning to face Alec. “I don’t know. What are we doing here, Alexander?”

“Can we borrow a couple of brooms for an hour?” Alec asks, glancing straight at Raphael.

“A couple?” he echoes, lifting a dubious eyebrow. “Are you telling me you’re going to try to get Magnus on a broom?” He smirks, crossing his arms over his chest. “Screw dinner, I want to see that.”

Magnus snaps his fingers, sending a blast of blue sparkles crashing on Raphael’s forehead in retaliation. “Asshole,” he blurts out, before focusing on Alec again. “He’s an asshole but he’s right. I’m not riding one of those demonic things. I’d rather ride another type of broom, if you know what I mean.”

“There’s not an ounce of doubt about what you mean, dumbass,” Raphael deadpans, and ducks to avoid another blue salvo.

Alec shakes his head. “I promise we won’t be flying for too long,” he says with as reassuring of a smile as he can muster. “There’s something I need to show you.”

Magnus sighs, pouting some. “Fine,” he growls. “But you go away,” he adds, pointing an accusatory finger at Raphael.

Raphael chuckles, and curves an eyebrow, clearly not prone to moving anytime soon. Magnus narrows his eyes at him, and sends another ball of sparkles straight in Raphael’s face, who steps back with a grunt.

“You’re an ass,” he tells Magnus, who doesn’t seem too affected by the insult if the light smirk he is sporting is any indication.

Raphael retreats quickly to safety, ducking to avoid the horde of sparkles Magnus is sending his way, grumbling insults in Spanish under his breath.

When he is gone, Magnus turns to face Alec and although he is smirking, Alec can see the true feelings hidden behind his facade, the anguish, the fear that goes far beyond riding a broom. 

He holds out a hand and Magnus takes it warily, letting himself be led to the storage room.

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Magnus says once they are back on the grass, broom in their hand.

Alec smiles. “Do you trust me?”

Magnus sighs, shaking his head, but his lips are curving at the corner with the beginning of a smile. “Yes.”

“Then believe me when I tell you it’ll be worth it.”

Magnus nods and follows Alec’s lead, straddling his broom and pushing on his legs to take off.

“I hate flying,” he says, both his hands gripping the stick tightly.

“You need to relax,” Alec instructs, flying closer. “Bend down a little.”

“I need to relax and bend down in order to ride this broom,” Magnus says, but the tension is too obvious in his tone to convey the teasing edge he was aiming for. “Darling, you’re making it really hard for me to concentrate here. You know how I love my innuendos.”

Alec snorts, rolling his eyes, and grabs Magnus’ arm to position him correctly. “Don’t look at the ground, look at where you’re going.”

“I don’t know where we’re going, darling,” Magnus retorts through clenched teeth.

“Smartass,” Alec mumbles through a smirk.

If anything, Magnus is stubborn, and certainly not one to back down in front of a challenge so it doesn’t take long for them to be in the air, flying above the Quidditch pitch, and then the lake.

Alec finds the clearing easily, because years away from Hogwarts can’t possibly have ripped that memory from him. It’s implemented deeply in his mind, and he knows it will never go away. Magnus releases a relieved sigh when they step foot on land again and it’s only when he is done wiping dust from his clothes that he looks up, and his eyes widen in awe.

“Wow,” he murmurs and Alec bites his lip on a smile.

Fall is just beginning, but the trees are already a bundle of colors, yellow and brown leaves hustling with the wing. The clearing is only lit by the moonlight and it reflects on Magnus like the moon itself has understood his uniqueness and has thus decided to show exactly how magnificently he can shine. Or perhaps Alec is just feeling lyrical but as he takes in the way Magnus’ eyes are glimmering as he surveys their surroundings.

“I used to hide here when I was a student in Hogwarts and I needed to get away for a while,” Alec says, sitting on a stranded trunk by the shore.

Magnus joins him in two strides, bumping his shoulder with his own playfully. “Are you telling me that you used to break the rules? Because I’m pretty sure we’re at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.”

Alec scoffs out a chuckle, leaning back on his hands. “Maybe I did,” he taunts. “But it was more bending the rules, because it’s not technically inside the forest... and I never got caught anyway.”

Magnus hums, glancing back at the clearwater, utterly calm, and Alec can’t help but think that this must be the proverbial calm before the storm.

“So, what was Young Alec hiding from?” Magnus asks after a while, although he doesn’t look away from the lake.

“People. All the people,” Alec says, and he smiles when it earns him a soft chuckle. “I’ve never been good with people. Lydia is the only real friend I ever made by myself and it was by chance, really, because we shared the same car on the Hogwarts Express and we didn’t know anyone so we were kind of forced to talk to each other.”

“Were you lonely?” Magnus asks, and there is something like experience in his tone, something painful buried deep inside and Alec wants to dig in and rip it to pieces.

“Not really,” he mutters, shrugging. “I had Lydia for my first year and then Izzy and Jace the next one.”

“And Simon.”

“And Simon,” Alec allows, “but he doesn’t count because he forced his way into my life and decided we would be friends without giving me a choice.”

“That sounds like him,” Magnus says with a fond smile.

“I also came here when my parents were giving me crap,” Alec continues, rubbing his fingers together. “It was my safe haven when I needed to get away for a while. There was a deer or the occasional centaur every now and then but most of the time, I was alone. No one to judge me.” He hesitates, inhales deeply and turns to glance at Magnus, whose gaze is still riveted on the still water. “After today, I thought you could use that.”

Magnus doesn’t reply immediately but his jaw flexes slightly, as if he is trying to hold back the flow of feelings that assault him all at once.

“I’m going to die,” he murmurs eventually, and Alec freezes in horror.

“What?”

“If Sebastian wins the election,” Magnus explains, voice pitched low. “I’ll be dead within two days. You know it as well as I do.”

“I’m insulted you think I’d let that happen,” Alec replies, but the teasing tone he was going for is lost in the genuine worry twirling in his stomach.

“You’re an Auror,” Magnus huffs out. “You’ll have no choice but to work for him. Your Department follows orders from the Minister of Magic.”

“I am an Auror, but I am also, I think, a decent human being,” Alec argues and when Magnus doesn’t react, he sighs. “Magnus.” He straightens up, angling his whole body to face him. “Magnus, look at me.”

Magnus does so reluctantly, his mouth a tight line, his eyes drifting from side to side until they finally settle on Alec’s face tentatively.

“You said you trusted me,” Alec says lowly. “Trust me when I tell you I won’t turn my back on you. If Sebastian wins - and that’s a big if - you’ll have to run away and if you want me to, I’ll come with you. You were right, I don’t usually break the rules. I like order and discipline. That doesn’t mean I would throw away my inner principles to follow a law abided by tyrants. I won’t be one of those who use ‘I was just following orders’ as an excuse to justify doing despicable things.”

“Running away would mean I’ve done something wrong,” Magnus mumbles, shaking his head.

“Running away would mean you’ll live,” Alec argues, reaching up to cup his face between his hands gently. “And that would really piss off the Children of Merlin,” he adds after reflection, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Magnus scoffs out a quiet laugh, and grabs one of Alec’s hand in his, squeezing lightly. “That does sound like a good reason,” he says. “Also, you still owe me a first date.”

“I do,” Alec says with a nod, his grin widening.

Magnus smiles and leans in to bury his face in Alec’s neck, and Alec wraps his arms around him at once, resting his cheek against his head.

“I’m so tired,” Magnus confides in a low voice. “I’m so tired of fighting all the time. Or holding back on the fight when I could easily hand Morgenstern his sorry ass.”

Alec chuckles. “That you could,” he says, pressing a kiss on Magnus’ hairline. “And I really hope I’ll be here to see it when that happens.”

For a while, they let the silence envelop them, laying over them like a cool autumnal breeze. Alec thinks he wouldn’t mind staying there forever, but they are bound to be found eventually, especially since the Marauder’s Map is probably in the mole’s hands at the moment, but he chooses to forget about it. He focuses on the sensation of Magnus’ hair  tickling his cheek instead, on his warm breath seeping against his neck, on his ring-clad fingers playing with Alec’s bare ones.

Now more than ever, they are at war, and if they can find a moment of peace, as ephemeral as it is, Alec will cherish it until he has no other choice but to let go.

“Thanks for taking me here,” Magnus murmurs eventually.

Alec tightens his hold on his shoulders in answer.

.

Magnus loves teaching.

He has always loved children, and the idea of sharing something with them that they will keep on forever is appealing, but there is something more to it.

He remembers his time as a student and how some of his teachers had become an inspiration to him. His favorite one had been the Charms one, Professor Rosales, who had made his lessons so alive that Magnus had been thrilled every time he was attending his class. It was undoubtedly one of the reasons that had pushed him to become a Charms expert himself.

There is something, though, that goes beyond sharing his knowledge with the younger generations of wizards and hoping they will make it theirs, something he didn’t write in books. It doesn’t happen with every student and it isn’t that common, but sometimes he creates a special bond with a student (but he’d deny it until his dying breath because Magnus Bane does not do favoritism) and that is incredibly rewarding.

Maxwell Lightwood is one of those students.

He had taken a particular liking to Magnus’ discipline quite early but their relationship is more than that. When Max had a problem with another class, or with a teacher or a fellow student, he usually came to Magnus for advice.

He has always been a brilliant student, staying after class to discuss a curse or two with Magnus, so when he finds himself staring at Max’s exam, which is average at best, he knows he has to do something.

Alec has been wallowing in self-hatred ever since they fought and Max decided to give him the cold shoulder and Magnus has no doubt that it is all correlated. Just like he knows that they love each other deeply, and that now is not the time to hold grudges.

“Mr. Lightwood,” Magnus calls out after dismissing the class. “Come here, I need to talk to you.”

Max doesn’t seem too happy about it and he casts a quick look at his friends before shrugging and walking up to Magnus’ desk.

He crosses his arms over his chest in a clear defensive posture and Magnus almost rolls his eyes.  _ Teenagers _ .

He points a finger at the parchment on his desk. “Not your best work,” he says conversationally, although his gaze is sharp and set on Max.

“I guess I’m having trouble to focus lately,” he retorts harshly. “Might have to do with my mother being in Azkaban.”

Sometimes, he forgets how the Lightwoods don’t like beating around the bush.

Magnus throws him a pointed look, leaning back against his desk. “Maxwell,” he says softly, “you know it’s not your brother’s fault.”

“If you’re trying to make me talk to him again, save it. Professor Lewis already gave me that speech. Plus, you’re just saying that because you two are -” he trailed off, gesturing between Magnus and the closed door behind which Alec is undoubtedly waiting to escort Magnus back to his quarters “- whatever you are. Everyone knows it. The whole school has bets on you two.”

This time, Magnus truly rolls his eyes. “I guess I need to give you all more homework if you find the time to gossip about my private life.”

It manages to tear a smile out of Max, and Magnus winks at him. “You already gave us an essay for next week,” Max argues.

“Two for you,” Magnus counters, holding out a piece of parchment. “If you want to make up for that disaster.”

Max heaves out a deep sigh and plucks it out of Magnus’ hands. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I’ll do better.”

“Look, Maxwell,” Magnus says softly, resting a hand on his shoulder. “I know everything went to hell for you lately. I know it’s hard to take in but -”

“She murdered people, Professor,” Max mutters, clenching his teeth. “Innocent people. Jace was injured.”

“She did,” Magnus says. “And you know your brother has nothing to do with this. He arrested her because it’s his job to arrest bad people, and I’m afraid your mother is one of them.”

“I know,” Max admits in a small voice. “I just… It’s my mother, you know? I can’t believe she’d do something like that. I never noticed anything.”

“You’re mad. It’s understandable.”

“You’re trying to make me say that I took out my anger on the wrong person, aren’t you?” Max asks, throwing him a pointed glare.

Magnus shrugs. “You said it, not me.”

Max sighs, pursing his lips, but doesn’t answer.

“Maxwell,” Magnus calls out softly, “your brother loves you and he would never do anything to hurt you purposely. You surely know that better than I do. It’s ridiculous how much he cares for you and your family. He had a hard choice to make, an impossible one, and he chose to do the right thing. I’m sure you can imagine how hard it was for him.”

He pushes off the desk and takes a step towards Max, tilting his head to the side. “He has to deal with the fact that his mother took part in a terrorist organization, just like you do, just like Jace and Isabelle do, but he’s also faced with the reality that his little brother is mad at him for that.”

“That’s not why I’m mad,” Max protests. “I’m mad because this whole situation sucks. I’m mad because our parents have told us how they had changed all our life and it’s all been a lie!”

Magnus can’t help but feel his heart ache at the pure despair in the boy’s voice, the powerlessness he has seen too many times in his brother’s eyes.

“I know that,” he says, slowly. “But your brother doesn’t. He thinks you’re mad at him because of him. He thinks he’s the one who’s done something wrong, because he’s always blaming himself for mistakes that aren’t his own. So maybe you should tell him.”

Max shuts his eyes for a second, inhaling deeply. “Okay,” he mumbles eventually. “Okay.”

“Good,” Magnus says with a nod. “But don’t think that exempts you from doing that extra essay.”

Max scoffs out a laugh. “Will I be exempted of extra essays if you do end up dating Alec?”

“Nope,” Magnus replies, pushing him towards the exit. “Maybe I’ll even have to give you harder ones to make sure no one thinks I’m succumbing to favoritism.”

“Hey!” Max protests, but he is laughing. “That’s not fair!”

Magnus laughs with him, but their mirth subdues when they get out of the classroom to find Alec waiting there, arms tucked behind his back in his distinctive soldier posture. His hazel eyes widen slightly at the sight of his little brother and he opens his mouth to talk but closes it immediately, ducking his head, and it is all too heartbreaking to witness. Magnus gives a discreet nudge to Max’s shoulder.

“Hey,” Max says shyly, looking down at his feet. “Can we talk?”

“Yes!” Alec replies at once, and seems to realize how desperate he sounds because he clears his throats and adds, lower, “Yes. Of course.”

“I’ll leave you to it,” Magnus says with a smile and starts walking away.

“Wait,” Alec exclaims, grabbing his arm. “You’re not supposed to wander in the castle alone, let me send a Patronus to Izzy and she’ll escort you back to your quarters.”

“Alexander, I’ll be fine,” Magnus assures him, resting his hand over Alec’s on his arm. “It’s a five minutes walk, I think I’ll manage.”

“But -”

“Darling,” Magnus cuts him, waving his wand in front of his fingers, “I’m not helpless. In fact, I could probably kick your glorious ass if I wanted to.”

“Yeah,” Alec huffs out, shaking his head, although he is smiling. “But don’t make any detour! I’ll meet you there when I’m done here.”

Magnus nods, turns to give a reassuring smile at Max and strides down the corridor.

He just has the time to hear Max’s teasing voice. “Are you really trying to make me believe you two are not dating?” and Alec’s answering grunt.

It is just late afternoon but the night has already fallen and his path is only illuminated by the few torches scattering the walls. It is a simple path to the Ravenclaw Tower, one he knows by heart, one he has taken a thousand times before. Nothing unexpected ever happened to him on his way from his classroom to his quarters.

That is, until a flash of light blast through his eyes and he stops dead in his tracks, covering his eyes to avoid the blinding flashes and tightening his grip on his wand.

He turns at the corner but he can’t see much apart from blasts of colors shooting through the air and ricocheting on the walls. He manages to dodge away a few of them with his wand, but there are too many and he still can’t see anything, so it makes the task all the more difficult.

He hears a voice mutter a curse he doesn’t know, and then, all he is aware of is pain lancing through his whole body. Blood spurts from his face and his chest as he collapses to the ground with a cry of agony, as if sliced by an invisible sword. His wand slips out of his hand and he uses his now free hands to explore his wounds, to gauge the damages, but they seem to be everywhere at once, his chest already blood-soaked.

This is agony, piercing through his every bone, gashing at his skin ruthlessly.

“Magnus!” someone yells what seems to be hours later, but must have only been minutes because he is still breathing, if sporadically.

“We were just practicing spells!” another voice shouts hurriedly. “We didn’t know he was there and I don’t control that one well yet. I didn’t mean to -”

“Practicing spells?” the first voice echoes, furious, and Magnus recognizes Simon through his torment. “What kind of spells were you practicing?”

“Magnus,” a soft voice calls above him and he manages to distinguish Isabelle’s features through his blurry vision. “You’re going to be okay,” she says, but her voice is trembling. “Lydia was with us and she went to fetch Maureen.”

Magnus tries to inhale deeply, but he only ends up coughing blood, rolling on his side.

“Fuck,” he murmurs. “Your brother is never going to let me wander alone again, is he?”

This is all he manages to breathe out before the pain is too much and he succumbs to the pounding in his head. He hears Isabelle calling out his name again, and Simon arguing with whoever attacked him, but it is all numbed by the ringing in his ears.

He shuts his eyes, and darkness envelops him in a cold embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *waving white flag frantically* DON'T SHOOT.
> 
> Yelling happens on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).  
> Comments are good too. I like comments :).
> 
> You can also send love to my amazing betas because they rock and they deserve all the love, [Roja](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/) and [Pravs.](https://twitter.com/magnusbake)
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	9. let us step into the night and pursue that flighty temptress, adventure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> So... There's a lot happening in this chapter so hold on tight. You'll be fine, I promise.
> 
> Also, MALEC SAID I LOVE YOU AND I'M STILL NOT OVER IT.
> 
>  
> 
> Okay, I'll leave you to it now.
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
>  
> 
> Ps: #lecrit to live-tweet, you can also tag me on tumblr, I track #lecrit.

When Max and he are done talking, Alec feels lighter than he did in a long time. The lump in his throat seems to evaporate when his little brother apologizes, and it is silly, because Alec doesn’t think Max owes him any form of apology whatsoever, but he accepts it nonetheless.

They are sitting on the frame of an opening in the wall that gives on the courtyard, and the silence is peaceful around them, the cold stone shimming with the slowly setting sun.

“Do you think you’ll catch them?” Max asks quietly. “The leaders.”

Alec inhales deeply.

He thinks of Elias, the little boy whose life got turned upside down because of the Children of Merlin. He thinks of the faces of terrified children he sees everyday when he patrols in the corridors of the castle. He thinks of Simon, his joyful smile that seems to hide too much lately.

He thinks of Magnus, his shimmering presence, his unapologetic sense of justice, the fierceness of his voice when he defends his people. The way his eyes soften when he looks at Alec when it is just the two of them.

He thinks of it all, of all the reasons they have to fight, to fight _back_ , and he nods.

“We will,” he says, and he believes it. “And we will make them pay.”

He hears the brutality of his own voice, how it sounds foreign to his own ears. He wonders if perhaps they have broken something in him, the faith he had always tried to have in people, how he had made sure to always judge them for who they are and not _what_ they are.

He wonders how after all this time, and despite everything he has been through, Magnus can still choose to see the best in people. He is starting to think it is all an ethereal utopia bound to disappoint them all eventually.

“I should go back to the common room before dinner,” Max says, and he hops down the window, landing on his feet gracefully.

Alec follows his lead, sliding his hands in his pockets. “I’ll walk with you to the Ravenclaw Tower, I’m heading there anyway.”

“Oh, yeah,” Max murmurs, his voice dragging a little as a taunting smirk curls at the corner of his lips. “Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.”

“Magnus is not my boyfriend,” Alec retorts at once, rolling his eyes.

He barely has the time to take two steps, and to hear his little brother scoffing in disbelieving, when Maia and Gretel, another Auror, burst into the corridor, bolting in the same direction they are heading.

Alec’s stomach drops, his breath hitching in his throat.

“Magnus,” he murmurs under his breath, and promptly starts running after them.

He is vaguely aware of Max following him, but his mind is entirely focused on his destination, on Maia and Gretel still running in front of him, the rush of their movements doing nothing to tame the worry that is already swirling in his stomach. He grabs his wand in his pocket and keeps a tight hold on it, finding an anchor in the familiar burst of magic he can feel through the wood.

It is the chaos in the west corridor that prompts him to an abrupt stop. Maia and Gretel have stopped as well, but they’re already getting to work, wands casting spells in the air to look for dark magic. Simon is on the opposite side with a small group of students, and judging by his expression and his eyes burning with wrath, their conversation must be the furthest thing possible from friendly.

Lydia is there too, with Hodge Starkweather and Tessa, and they are trying their best to keep the group of curious students who have gathered in the corridor at bay from the scene occurring a few feet behind them.

“Alec,” Max breathed out next to him, voice full of dread.

Alec follows his gaze, and his eyes fall on the smaller group huddled a few feet away from him, and the lump in his throat is back in the matter of a second. Isabelle is squatting over a body lying on the ground, utterly immobile, and Alec doesn’t need to take a step closer to know his fears have found yet another ground to feast on.

Maureen is kneeling next to Isabelle, her wand hovering over Magnus’ body, muttering healing curses under her breath.

Alec takes a step forward, and forgets how to breathe at the sight of Magnus’ face, so pale he looks dead already.

“I don’t know that spell,” he hears Maureen say through the howling daze of horror and panic he seems to be stuck in. “I can close the wounds and stop the bleeding but I don’t know if I should be checking for internal damages too.”

“Who did this?” he asks, voice lower than a whisper.

It is enough for Isabelle to hear him, though, and she looks up with a start, eyes full of terror.

“Alec,” she says, tone equally apologetic and wary, as if she is fully aware he is about to go ballistic. She is right to be.

“Who did this?” he asks again, louder, his jaw flexing with untamable wrath.

Isabelle doesn’t reply, but she glances over her shoulder at the students Simon is still admonishing and he can feel his blood boil in his veins with raging accuracy.

Isabelle doesn’t try to stop him, and neither does Max, perhaps because they both know there is no stopping him now. He pushes past Simon and takes a second to cast a look over the group of students, and his eyes darken because of course, it would happen to be the Whitelaws. Alec never believed in coincidences, and it just comforts him in his idea. He grabs the eldest boy by the collar, slams him against the nearest wall with further ceremony, and jabs his wand against his neck.

“What spell did you use?” he grits out through clenched teeth, voice as cold as the fall wind seeping through the air.

The boy shakes his head. His eyes are full of terror, and Alec wonders if the Children of Merlin told him what exactly would be the fallouts of using such a spell, or if he is just very good at playing coy.

“W-We were just practising,” he stammers. “A-Alec, I swear we didn’t know he was there.”

Alec almost growls at the familiarity, but he supposes they are on a first name basis. Their parents have been friends for years. They went through countless society dinners together. That doesn’t prevent Alec from wanting to curse him with the worst, darkest spells he can think of until he answers his question, familiarity be damned.

“What spell did you use?” he hisses, low and menacing. “Don’t make me ask a third time, Henri. You might not like what happens if I do.”

Henri gulps hard and he leans his head against the wall in an effort to get his neck away from Alec’s wand but Alec follows the movement, his gaze unfaltering.

“I-It’s called Sectumsempra,” Henri says eventually. “I don’t know how to counter the effects and I didn’t know what it did, I swear.”

“Who taught you that?” Alec asks with narrowing eyes. “I’m pretty sure neither Professor Bane nor Professor Starkweather allow dark magic in their classroom.”

Henri’s mouth pulls into a thin line but Alec moving his wand against his Adam’s apple seems to be enough of an incentive to loosen his tongue.

“Our father did,” he admits in a low murmur, casting a glance to the side at his siblings, who look like they don’t know whether to run away or to jump to their brother’s rescue. “Valentine was the one who taught him, all those years ago when they were in the Circle.”

Alec snorts, throwing him a pointed glare. “Your father is in Azkaban right now,” he says. “I think you can skip the past tense.”

“Look, we didn’t know Bane would be there,” Henri tries again. “We were just practicing.”

“Practicing dark spells in the middle of the corridor at five in the afternoon.” Alec leans in, dropping his voice until only Henri can hear him, and he wonders if the shiver he sees running on his skin is due to the ruthless edge of his voice or to the fear induced by Alec’s wand still hovering menacingly against his skin. “You better hope he pulls through, and without any sequelae or I’ll throw you in a cell with your father, and if you can’t handle me, you sure as hell can’t handle the Dementors.”

“I’m sorry,” Henri repeats, but Alec is not listening to him anymore.

He turns around, and takes two strides to kneel next to Isabelle, sliding his hand in Magnus’. His fingers are cold against his palm, and he is mumbling in his sleep, incoherent words that he isn’t even sure are even English, his face contorting in pain.

“Is he going to be okay?” he asks, not bothering to hide the pure terror that is dripping of his trembling voice.

“I don’t know,” Maureen says, and her honesty makes his heart clench in his chest.

“He has to be,” he murmurs, uncompromising. “You have to save him.”

Maureen glances up for a second and she nods gingerly. “I need to move him to the infirmary.”

Alec nods back. He inhales deeply, trying and failing at bringing the air back to his lungs. His mind is a chaos of overwhelming worry and darker thoughts that all drift around the same words. What if.

“Alec,” Isabelle calls out softly at his side, and he only notices then that her hand is rubbing soothing circles in his back, but it doesn’t help alleviating neither his concerns nor the lump in his throat that came back full force. “He’ll get through this.”

He doesn’t know if he fully believes her, but he heaves out a deep breath nonetheless, and leans in to gather Magnus’ limp body in his arms, pushing back to his feet. He lays heavily in his arms, nothing but a dead weight, and Alec can feel the tears rushing to his eyes but he urges them back, clenching his jaw.

“Lead the way,” he tells Maureen, readjusting Magnus in his arms. It seems ridiculous, for him to try to make Magnus as comfortable as possible when he probably won’t feel the difference.

He ignores all the gazes set on him, students and professors alike, as he pushes past the crowd to get to the infirmary, chin up in the air and teeth gritted.

He doesn’t dare to look down at Magnus, not in front of all these preying eyes.

The realization that dawns on him and must be so appallingly obvious on his features is not for them to see.

“Don’t do this to me,” he whispers, but only once Magnus is lying on one of the beds in the infirmary, skin going paler by the minute. “You still owe me a first date.”

.

“There is pain, and there is _pain_.”

This is what Luke says when he arrives to Hogwarts an hour later, and Alec shudders in dread.

Magnus is still whimpering in his slumber, brow furrowed and face damp with sweat, and Alec has been sitting by his side toying nervously with his fingers ever since they got to the infirmary. He has shown no sign of improving, despite Maureen’s relentless attempts.

“What?” he says, faintly, for the sole reason that he is expected to say something.

“Sectumsempra,” Luke says slowly, in a low voice that seems to hide a pain that has been buried a long time ago.

“You know that spell?” Alec asks, immediately straightening up on his chair to look at him, and bolts up to his feet when Luke nods. “Do you know how to counter the effects?”

“I don’t,” Luke says, and his voice is strangely calm for someone who just admitted his powerlessness. “But I know someone who does. He’s on his way.”

Alec slouches back in the chair, heaving out a deep sigh. “Thank Merlin.”

He waits until Luke sits on the chair next to him to ask the question that is nudging at the back of his mind. “The Whitelaw kid said Valentine was the one who taught his father that spell,” he says, tentatively, as if testing the waters. “Is that how you know about it?”

Luke shakes his head, and for a second, he seems lost in his thoughts but he quickly recovers, his eyes setting on Magnus’ features, still contorted in pain.

“That was after I had broken all contact with him,” he confesses after a while, the hint of regret coloring his tone matching the look in his dark eyes. “You’ve seen the effects of Avada Kedavra, Alec.”

It is an affirmation and yet, Luke lets the words hang in the air like he expects an answer, so Alec just nods faintly, chewing on his bottom lip. He frowns when he realizes he is doing it, because this is a nervous habit that has never been his before, but he’s seen Magnus do the same a few times, and he wonders when he started spending so much time with Magnus that he is now mimicking his bad habits.

“It’s quick and painless,” Luke goes on. “It does the job, but it wasn’t enough for Valentine. He’d rather watch someone slowly bleed out to death.” He pauses, runs a hand over his tired features.

It hits Alec, suddenly, that Luke must be exhausted. _Truly_ exhausted.

The Children of Merlin have made him a clear target. It doesn’t bode well with them to have a Half-Blood as the head of the Auror department, let alone one who is so adamant about defending the ones who have been shunned by their society for so long.

Alec can’t imagine the kind of pressure he must be under, or the fear he must been feeling at the thought that the Children of Merlin have no regards with going after one’s family to hurt them. Clary is safe amidst the walls of Hogwarts, but Jocelyn, Luke’s wife, is still working in the Ministry of Magic. Alec has no doubts she can defend herself - he has only met her a handful of times, but Clary’s mother is a force of nature - but he knows that it doesn’t prevent the crushing worry.

“When the Uprising begun,” Luke continues, absently, like he is talking to the spirits in the room rather than Alec, “it was a bloodbath. I was only young at the time, but I remember the first time I arrived on one of Valentine’s crime scenes like it was yesterday. It was a slaughter. There were about ten Muggle-borns, and more blood than I had ever seen before.”

“In all the training you go through to become an Auror, they never truly prepare you to the horrors you’ll have to face,” he says. “To the broken lives that will plague your nightmares. The sight of innocent people murdered for who they are. Valentine was ruthless, and cruel. And he likes to make his victims suffer, to make their death seem like a welcome relief instead of the barbarous murder it actually is. He likes to make it appear like he’s doing them a favor by putting an end to their sufferings.”

“That’s why he invented that spell,” he finishes, with violent bitterness.

Alec shuts his eyes for a second, forces himself not to think about the pain Magnus must be going through, about his whole body screaming in agony and how death would feel like a relief now. He doesn’t let himself think about it, because the only relief he can think of would be Magnus opening his eyes right then and smiling at him, that small, luminous smile he seems to reserve for Alec only.

“We worked for months to find a counterspell,” Luke says softly. “We didn’t have anyone with Magnus’ expertise with Charms at the time, but we found one eventually. A mediwizard specialized in dark magic. It took too long, though. We lost countless lives to Valentine’s spell before that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Alec says, because it feels like Luke could use a reminder.

“I know,” Luke replies with a stern nod, but his shoulders sag a little with relief.

The silence stretches for a while, filling every available space in the room and Alec lets his eyes fall back on Magnus’ face, pale and burning all at once. He reaches out to push a loose strand of hair off his forehead, lets himself be bold enough to stroke the soft skin there, damp with sweat.

Magnus mumbles something under his breath, but his eyes remain stubbornly shut, and Alec’s heart clenches in his chest.

“They don’t realize how dangerous we are,” Luke says, and Alec almost startles, darting his gaze back to him. “The Children of Merlin,” he eludes. “Valentine. They have nothing to lose, and that makes them dangerous. But they don’t realize that we are even more dangerous, because we have something to lose, and we’re ready to die if that means protecting it.”

Alec ponders on the words, but he doesn’t need to do so for too long before he nods, a tacit agreement.

“He’ll be alright,” Luke says, gesturing to Magnus. “He’s got more fight in him than most people I’ve met in my life. Especially those Pureblood who are so pissy about having a Muggle-born more powerful than them.”

“Yeah,” Alec replies absently, letting his fingers thread through Magnus’ hair. It feels soft and silky under his touch, and it makes his heart ache to do it again when Magnus is conscious, and healthy.

“We’re at war, Alec,” Luke says gravely. “Time is a luxury we do not have.”

When Alec turns back to look at him, eyebrow curved in confusion, there is a knowing smile on Luke’s lips that sends a blush creeping up his cheeks. He clears his throat, but is saved from further embarrassment by the doors of the infirmary bursting open.

He doesn’t try to hide his surprise when it is Lydia who walks in, her husband John walking at her side.

Alec frowns, and bolts to his feet, accepting the quick hug John tugs him in to greet him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, and it sounds a bit rude, perhaps, but he is too astonished and too worried to really care.

John curves an eyebrow, his blue eyes glimmering with his characteristic kindness, and a hint of amusement. “Luke called me in.”

Alec’s frown deepens and he turns to face his boss. “What?”

“Our Sectumsempra expert,” Luke says, pointing a finger at John, who is already moving to stand by the bed where Magnus lies.

Lydia seems just as bewildered as Alec to have her husband here, although her surprise is softened by how pleasing it is for her to see him, especially because they haven’t been able to see much of each other since she was assigned to Hogwarts with Alec.

“You never told me,” she says, and there is a hint of reproach there, but mostly curiosity.

“It was classified,” John says absently, focused on examining Magnus’ wounds. “During my studies to become a mediwizard, I took a speciality in the healing of dark magic.”

“Yes, I know that,” Lydia replies matter-of-factly.

John nods, but his focus doesn’t waver, and his wand starts glowing blue over Magnus’ limp body.

“I met my mentor in that class,” he goes on, his chestnut hair falling into his eyes as he bends over to study Magnus more closely. “He was the one who found the way to counter the effects of Valentine’s spell. He taught me everything I know. Sadly, he’s lost his mind now and no one has seen him in years. So when the Children of Merlin resurfaced, Luke contacted me immediately.”

“Can you save him? Is he going to be okay?” Alec asks, because he doesn’t care much for John’s background right now. He is aware of how desperate he sounds, and John blinks at him bewilderedly for a second, while Lydia and Luke both send him sympathetic glances.

Alec focuses only on John, his fingers twitching with the need to reach out and touch Magnus, grab his wrist to feel his heartbeat beneath his fingertips. He slides his hands in his pockets instead.

“Yeah,” he says finally. “It’s a good thing Mrs. Brown got to him as early as she did. She did well in closing his wounds, so he didn’t lose too much blood. I’m working on repairing what has been damaged inside his body, but he’s going to make it.”

Alec slouches back on his seat. He runs a hand on his features and keeps it there for a moment, hoping it will hide the way he is holding back a relieved sob.

Luke claps a strong hand on his shoulder and squeezes, comforting but grounding all at once. Alec gives him a small smile, faint but as genuine as he can.

In the spur of a few minutes, Magnus has stopped whimpering, and his features are relaxed, still deep in slumber.

And Alec allows himself to breathe.

.

It takes Magnus half a second to recognize his surroundings. The grey walls of the hospital wing are soothing to his eyes, and it helps to keep them open.

He isn’t quite sure why he is here, though, but his whole body feels sore and his naked chest is entirely covered by a bandage, so he guesses it is nothing good.

He is quite relieved to be able to move without too much trouble, just a dull pain in his muscles, but nothing insurmountable. He pushes on his elbows, taking in his surroundings. It is pitch dark outside, and he can’t be sure, but he thinks it’s the middle of the night. By the window, he can see the lake, plunged into darkness. It gives it an even more ethereal aura than under daylight.

Magnus sits in his bed, stretching his neck to ease the soreness in his muscles, and tries to recall what happened.

He remembers flashes of bright light, voices that could only belong to students, too juvenile to be anyone older. After that, everything is a blur of agony, darkness and actively battling death, looking into its eyes and refusing to take the outstretched hand.

His eyes fall on the sleeping form on the bed next to him. Isabelle is curled up on the mattress, her beautiful features relaxed in slumber, dark hair folding over her peaceful face.

He smiles faintly, letting his legs hang over the edge of the bed. He needs to walk, to make sure his limbs are still all functional. There are people, he knows, who will never forgive themselves if he bears any stigma of the attack.

He isn’t even sure if it was an attack or an accident but somehow, the word seems more appropriate. He has always had trouble believing in coincidences and to say the Children of Merlin have ruined what was left of that belief is an euphemism. They haven’t completely destroyed his faith in people, though, but he is starting to think it might happen someday, and he hates the sole idea of it. Of becoming someone he has never been because a group of fanatics have made him their target under the joule of their prejudiced leaders.

He still has hope, and faith, because fortunately, he has also met people these past few months who proved him he was right to assure the best before the worst, but it is hard to keep that mindset after waking up in a hospital bed, body sore and hurting, mind still exhausted by the flashes of unbearable pain it endured.

It is hard, but Magnus is braver than most people think, and if a way to defy the Children of Merlin is to stay who he is and be it with his chin up, then this is what he will do.

His stomach squirts when he thinks of Alec, because he is one of these people who prove him his faith wasn’t misguided. He wonders where he is, if he worried the way Magnus knows he would if the roles were inverted and something were to happen to him.

He longs to see him, to tell him “to hell with it, we don’t have the time to be patient”, because if this whole thing is teaching him anything, it is that.

He doesn’t know if it is love - or perhaps he knows, and it makes it all equally easier and more complicated - but he knows he doesn’t want to risk having it slip through his fingers before it is too late.

He is about to hop down the bed when a loud gasp resonates a few feet away from him, followed by the clatter of glass blasting on the floor.

When he looks up, startled, Alec is already marching towards him in resolute strides, and Magnus barely has the time to open his arms before he is crashing into him, vigorous but mindful of his injuries all at once.

Alec buries his head in Magnus’ neck and breathes him in, just breathes him in, laborious pants tickling the skin of his throat, sending a wave of shivers down Magnus’ whole body. He wraps his arms around Alec and holds him right back, with all the strength he can muster, rubbing soothing circles in his back.

“I-,” Alec whispers against his neck, voice trembling with relief. He stops himself, tightens his grip around Magnus’ shoulders, and Magnus wonders if his eyes are shut, too. “I was terrified.”

It is in that exact moment, the overwhelming need to bring the man in his arms any comfort he could need nudging aside any coherent thought, the comfort he finds himself in the embrace, their heartbeats seemingly fusioning to throb in one rhythm that belongs to them only, that Magnus realizes that it is, indeed, love.

It can’t be anything else, but love, devastating yet simple, and it feels right. Just right.

As if for a little while, the world has ceased to be the cruel place that it is to give Magnus a semblance of respite, a glimpse of what it could be like if he fitted in the standards the world has seem to set for them.

He takes deep, steady breaths, soothed by the shattering but always welcome feeling of Alec pressed against him tightly, of his eyelashes brushing against his skin.

 _Yes_ , he thinks. _This, right here. This is good. This is perfect._

It feels like an eternity has passed when Alec pulls back, and yet Magnus is tempted to hold on to him and never let him go, because it seems too short of a time. An eternity holding him wouldn’t seem like enough, as long as they feel safe in each other’s arms.

They turn their head to the side in a same movement at the sound of footsteps next to them.

Isabelle sends them a blinding smile, knowing and soft. “I’ll give you some privacy,” she says, sending them a mischievous wink. “I’ll be at the door if you’re looking for me. But don’t come looking for me.”

She gives a warning glare to her brother, who only rolls his eyes in response, although the ghost of a smirk is playing at the edge of his mouth.

She doesn’t say anything, leaving the room with the poise and confidence that belong to Isabelle Lightwood only, chin up in the air proudly, a slight bounce to her steps.

“There’s something Luke said,” Alec murmurs, and Magnus almost startles at the quaver of his voice, soft but trembling, glancing away from the door Isabelle just closed behind her to look back at Alec.

Alec is already looking at him, and the gaze he is sending Magnus is enough to make his heart both clench and flutter in his chest.

“Mmhm?” he prompts, not sure actual words could go past the lump in his throat.

“He said time is a luxury we do not have,” Alec says, slowly, as if saying out loud words that have been swirling in his mind for days but feel somehow foreign in his mouth. “Because we’re at war.”

“We are.”

Magnus nods and he tries to show only confidence, but he knows Alec can read how terrifying this whole thing is to him. War doesn’t only mean they are going upfront to fight a group of lunatics, it means there will ineluctably be casualties, and Magnus isn’t ready to lose more of his people to the Children of Merlin.

“I know it’s selfish,” Alec murmurs under his breath, and Magnus’ gaze softens as he settles on the man standing in front of him, “but I don’t want to waste the limited time we may have. We don’t know when this whole mess will be over and… I don’t want to wait any longer if there’s a risk that I may lose you any day.”

It takes Magnus a few embarrassingly long seconds to understand what Alec is saying exactly but when it dawns on him, he can’t hold back a relieved sigh. “Oh, thank God.”

Alec frowns, confusion flashing in his eyes. Magnus knows God is even more of a foreign concept to the wizarding world than it is to the Muggles, but Alec’s almost childish cluelessness still brings a smile to his lips.

“Thank Merlin, or Morgana, or Freddie Mercury,” he blurts out hastily, waving his hand dismissively. “Thank whoever you want but kiss me first.”

Alec scoffs, but it doesn’t prevent the wide grin that is spreading on his mouth as he leans down to press their lips together. It is only a tentative brush at first, but it is enough for Magnus to feel his heartbeats echo all the way to his fingertips. He wraps his arms around Alec’s neck and pushes closer, swallowing the quiet moan that escapes Alec’s mouth as he parts his lips.

It is slow and languid, and enough to leave Magnus lightheaded and craving for more. It is soft and caring, more so than he ever thought he would get to experience.

It shouldn’t surprise him, because Alec Lightwood is soft and caring, or at least he has always been with Magnus, once he had teared down the stern Auror facade he keeps up in front of strangers.

It is peculiar in more ways than Magnus can truly tell. It is a first kiss, and he has received quite a few of these in his life, but this one is special. Because it is with Alec, and because it is a promise, sealed by their lips moving together, of a blossoming bond that they are both willing to fight for, despite the world they live in, despite their fears, despite the Children of Merlin.

Magnus pulls back and breathes slowly, filling his lungs with much needed air. When he blinks his eyes open, Alec is already looking at him, hazel eyes shining into the night, glimmering with a fascinated spark, like he can’t quite believe what just happened.

Magnus sends him a small smile, thumb brushing over the sharp line of his jaw.

“Totally worth the wait,” he murmurs playfully.

Alec chuckles, a pleased flicker flashing in his gaze, almost proud. His voice is rough when he talks, “I could have gone without two days of being worried sick about you, though.”

“Two days?” Magnus echoes with a frown. “I was out for two days?”

Alec nods, pressing his lips together in a contrite expression. “Luke called in John, Lydia’s husband, to heal you, but the spell he used on you works slowly and it’s painful, so Maureen put you to sleep until it was done.”

“Well, I feel as good as new now,” Magnus exclaims cheerfully, but his own body betrays him, and he yawns in Alec’s face, his mind suddenly dizzy.

Alec smirks, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. “John said you would be on and off for a couple of days. You should get some rest.”

Magnus sighs, but nods and shuffles to lay back down. Alec watches him with a fond smile and he takes a step back, surely to give Magnus some space, but Magnus grabs his arm before he can get away, glancing up at him with big, bright eyes.

“Stay,” he demands, but he knows it sounds more like a plea.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Alec replies with a frown, gesturing with a wave at the chair on the side of the bed, almost offended that Magnus could think otherwise.

Magnus gives him a tired smile, shaking his head fondly. “I meant here,” he mutters, patting the empty space next to him.

A blush sprinkles on Alec’s cheeks, spreading all the way to the tip of his ears. “We, uh, I don’t think we fit. We’re both too tall,” he mumbles, rubbing a hand at the nape of his neck.

Magnus stares pointedly for a few seconds, and can’t hold back the chuckle that escapes his throat, filling the empty space between them. “Oh, Alexander,” he says, and that simple word is layered with too much affection to make his feelings anything but obvious. “Sometimes, I really wonder if you even know you’re a wizard.”

Alec’s flush deepens, and Magnus decides he doesn’t regret the teasing for one second.

He doesn’t comment on it, though, instead reaching out to grab his wand on the night table next to the bed, murmuring a spell under his breath. In a second, the bed has doubled in size. It doesn’t take much longer for Alec to toe off his shoes and climb in, snuggling under the covers with Magnus.

Magnus turns on his side to face him, a content, albeit tired, smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You look like you could use some sleep too, darling.”

Alec indulges him with a tired smile of his own. “I didn’t sleep much these past two days,” he confesses. “You worried me.”

“I’m sorry,” Magnus murmurs, reaching out to grab the hand Alec has laid between them.

“Not your fault,” Alec says in a breath, hooking their fingers together. “It was the Whitelaw kids. Again.”

Magnus lifts an eyebrow, holding back another yawn. “Did Raphael try to kill them already?”

“Simon managed to stop him,” Alec says, with a smirk that is enough for Magnus to know he didn’t lift a finger to do so himself.

“We don’t need more violence,” Magnus mutters, soft but intransigent. “Especially not inside those walls.”

“They attacked you,” Alec argues, “and you won’t make me believe that it was a coincidence, not when it happens to be them.”

“I don’t believe it was a coincidence,” Magnus says firmly, “but I believe they are kids thrown in a war that shouldn’t be theirs, and that they have been indoctrinated to live by their parents’ archaic mindset. I don’t blame them.”

“You never blame anyone,” Alec sighs, and he sounds more regretful than reproachful. “You’re too good for this world, Magnus. I don’t know how you can still have faith in people.”

Magnus shuffles closer, pitching his voice low. “The world is only as cruel as we made it to be,” he says. “But the day I lose faith in people is also the day I lose all hope of building a better one, someday. So I’d rather keep what hope I have left.”

Alec blinks at him in the dark, lips pulled in a tight line. “This world doesn’t deserve you,” he says quietly. “You deserve so much better. I wish I could -” He pauses, and there is sorrow in his eyes when he glances at Magnus again, “I wish I could make it better for you.”

Magnus’ smile is vacillant, he knows, his heart clenching in his chest. He leans in to press a soft kiss to Alec’s mouth, lingering but innocent, their lips just folding together faultlessly.

“You already do,” he whispers against Alec’s mouth, and lets himself be kissed again.

Magnus’ mind is a whirlwind, a mess of desire and an overwhelming sense of belonging striking his every thought, and he wants nothing more than to deepen the kiss, but his body has clearly decided to be uncooperative because he ends up yawning against Alec’s mouth again.

He growls, leaning his forehead against Alec’s. “I’m sorry.”

Alec laughs lightly and the sound fills the room and Magnus’ heart with warmth. “Go to sleep, Magnus,” he says softly.

He hums tiredly, and does exactly that, wondering if the fluttering sensation in his stomach is an aftermath of the spell cast by John, or something else entirely.

.

When Magnus opens his eyes the next morning, it takes him a moment to realize he didn’t wake up naturally, but that it’s something nudging against his leg with in instance that pulled him out of his slumber.

He growls, and tries to snuggle closer to the warmth of Alec’s body but a youthful and impossibly annoyed voice stops him.

“Magnus! Magnus, wake up! It’s not funny when you’re sleeping!”

Magnus’ eyes shot open, just in time to see Alec do the same and they shared a confused glance, before pulling away to look at their surroundings. They are met with a bunch of knowing smiles and the smug faces of Magnus’ friends, but Magnus can’t even find the time to scold them for it, because Elias is standing by his bed, his chin barely reaching the edge, and he looks decided to get Magnus out of bed.

“Come on,” he whines. “Alec, stop cuddling with Magnus, it’s my turn!”

Magnus scoffs, and his cheeks are most definitely not flushing when he bends over to grab Elias under the arms and pick him up.

“My apologies,” Alec chuckles, and pink is coloring the tip of his ears, too.

Elias nods in acceptance, but he barely spares Alec a look, sporting a far too serious expression for a boy his age, and turns back to Magnus. “Raj said you were hurt,” he says, shuffling to settle comfortably on Magnus’ lap.

Magnus startles, sending a puzzled look to Ragnor, who purses his lips together. “The little scoundrel was spying on us and he overheard Raj telling us about what had happened,” his friend explains. “He wouldn’t stop crying until we told him we’d come and see you.”

“I didn’t!” Elias protests. He tugs on Magnus’ shoulder until he leans closer for Elias to whisper confidentially in his ear. “I wanted to see you and Dad always says yes when I cry.”

Magnus snorts, pressing a kiss on his godson’s forehead. “Well played, pumpkin,” he mutters in answer, giving him a mischievous wink.

Elias beams at the praise but quickly deflates, reaching out to touch the bandage wrapped around Magnus’ torso. “Are you going to die?”

It takes all of Magnus’ restraint not to gasp in horror. Elias is looking up at him with big, scared eyes, but there is something oddly fatalist there too, and Magnus grits his teeth, before plastering an easy smile on his lips.

“Of course not!” he exclaims, with more enthusiasm than he thought himself capable of. “I’m immortal.”

Elias rolls his eyes, unimpressed. “No, you’re not,” he says, almost reprimanding. “I heard Mom say you almost died.”

Magnus casts a chastising look at Catarina, who shrugs in apology, and heaves out a deep sigh, running a hand in Elias’ unruly hair. “Well, it takes more than a little punny spell to put me down, pumpkin,” he says softly. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Elias pouts a little. “You always say that and then people attack you again,” he mumbles. “Alec promised he would protect you but you still got hurt.”

Magnus can feel more than see Alec tense where he is still sitting on the bed next to them.

He is about to answer, to try - and probably fail, he thinks bitterly - to bring his godson some kind of reassurance, but Alec is quicker, tilting his head to catch Elias’ dark eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says lowly, shamefully, and Magnus’ stomach squirts painfully. “I should have been there to protect him. I’ll do better next time. Actually no,” he states, shaking his head. “There won’t be a next time.”

“It’s okay,” Elias tells him, his juvenile voice a great contrast to the way he is looking at Alec almost pitifully. “I’m not mad at you. Don’t be sad,” he adds, laying one of his small hands in Alec’s big one.

“I’m - I’m not sad,” Alec stammers, taken aback.

Elias frowns, his face scrunching adorably in confusion. “Why were you cuddling, then?” he asks. “Or did you have a nightmare? Mom always lets me cuddle when I have a nightmare.”

“N-No,” Alec says, a delicious flush spreading from his neck to his cheeks.

Magnus throws a glare to the rest of the adults in the room, who just stand next to the bed with knowing smiles. Isabelle is full on grinning.

“Oh,” Elias breathes out, eyes widening, and his voice lowers to a whisper as he leans in towards Alec. “Was it a grown-up cuddle? It’s what happens when adults like each other a lot, like you and Magnus.”

Alec looks about ready to run away to hide, mortification written all over his face.

“I hope you know you’re terrible parents,” Magnus says, deadpan, sending a pointed look at Catarina and Ragnor, who are snickering behind their hands. “Pumpkin,” he quips, turning back to Elias, who looks away from Alec to blink up his big, innocent eyes at him. “People can cuddle for many various reasons. We hug all the time, but we’re not always sad, right?”

“Hugging is different,” Elias says, in a definite tone that leaves no room for argument. “Cuddling is for people you l-”

He is interrupted by the door of the infirmary opening in a clamor and Magnus pretends he doesn’t hear Alec whispering “thank Merlin” under his breath, but he reaches out to pat his hand anyway. Alec shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips, one that disappears as soon as he sees who is walking in the room.

He leaps off the bed, standing as straight as he can at Magnus’ side, arms tucked between his back in his soldier posture.

“Magnus!” Luke exclaims when he catches him sitting there. “It’s good to see you awake!”

“It’s even better to _be_ awake,” he replies with a smile.

“You sure?” Ragnor cuts in, snickering. “You seemed to like sleeping just fine.”

“Ragnor, dearest,” Magnus says, voice smooth and eyes equally sweet and murderous, “don’t make me call you names in front of your son. You know how Cat gets when we swear.”

“I wouldn’t attack a wounded man,” Catarina chimes in, before turning a stern glance at her husband. “But you be careful.”

Ragnor rolls his eyes, but doesn’t reply.

“Who are you?” Magnus asks to the stranger who arrived with Luke, standing behind him, chestnut hair falling in his blue eyes.

“I’m John,” he says, and he seems to hesitate to reach out to shake his hand, but refrains himself when he realizes both of Magnus’ hands are busy, wrapped around Elias still sitting in his lap.

“John is Lydia’s husband,” Alec informs him. “He’s the one who healed you.”

“You mentioned him,” Magnus says with a quick nod. “I guess I owe you a thank you.”

“It was nothing,” John replies, dismissing his comment with a wave. “You can thank me when I’m done checking that everything has healed properly.”

“That’s our cue,” Luke calls out, clapping his hands together. “Let’s give Magnus some space.”

“Come on, pumpkin,” Magnus whispers to Elias. “The mediwizard needs to check I’m still as fabulous as ever.”

Elias smiles, and shuffles to get off Magnus’ lap. He doesn’t say a word but kneels at the edge of the bed, reaching out to tug on Alec’s sleeve. Alec looks confused for a moment but when Elias opens his arms in a clear request, he doesn’t hesitate and picks him up automatically, a pleased, almost proud, smile curling on his lips.

It is so adorable that Magnus can’t hold back a stupid smile himself.

“Look, Cat, we’re losing him,” Ragnor calls out dramatically. “I knew we shouldn’t have chosen Magnus to be his godfather. It’s all part of his plan to steal him away from us.”

“Next stage is killing you in your sleep,” Magnus deadpans.

Elias gasps in horror, and Alec readjusts his hold on him, tugging him against his chest. Elias’ fingers curls around the collar of his shirt, holding tight, and Magnus tells himself he is not jealous of his five-year-old godson.

“Don’t listen to them,” Alec tells Elias, walking away from them and towards the window that gives on the lake. “Adults are stupid.”

“You’re an adult,” Elias argues reasonably.

“Yeah, but I’m one of the cool ones,” is the last thing Magnus hears before they’re out of earshot, sitting together at the edge of the window, one of Alec’s hand fastened protectively around the little boy to avoid any brusque movement while he shows him the lake and the Forbidden Forest with the other one, explaining everything to him in a low voice.

Magnus’ heart is clenching in his chest, but it feels right. Just right.

.

“So, how long have you known Alec?” John asks conversationally as he studies Magnus’ torso, swirling his wand over his skin in elegant movements.

“A bit over two months.”

“Really?” John goes still, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “That’s… odd.”

Magnus frowns. “And why is that?” he says wryly, already bracing himself for a comment on his blood not being pure enough for someone like Alec.

John seems to understand where his thoughts went because his eyes widen immediately. “Oh, no!” he exclaims. “I didn’t mean it like that! It’s just… Well, it usually takes him a long time to be open with people the way he is with you.”

Magnus relaxes at once. “Oh,” he breathes out. “Sorry. I’m a bit paranoid lately.”

John gives him a smile, kind and understanding. “It’s comprehensible. With the whole, you know, Children of Merlin being after people like you and all that.”

“Yeah,” Magnus sighs. “I suppose it is.”

John is silent for a moment, and he darts his eyes away, focusing back on Magnus’ torso. “About Alec, I just meant he looks... uninhibited. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as relaxed as he seems to be around you.”

“How long have you known him?” Magnus asks, because it is better than to focus on the way his heart is hammering in his chest.

“Years,” John says. “He was Lydia’s best man at our wedding. He’s a great guy, but he’s always been kind of obtuse when it came to his own well being. I’m glad he found you.”

Magnus bites on his bottom lip, his eyes drifting to where Alec is still sitting with Elias, the little boy talking animatedly, gesturing widely with his hands. Alec turns his head right then, and he smiles at Magnus when their eyes catch each other, small and intimate. It reminds Magnus of the first time they saw each other, really saw each other, in the Quidditch stadium what seems to be an eternity ago. Even then, Magnus had been drawn to him, irrevocably. He remembers how Alec had looked over his shoulder tentatively, almost shyly, and how Magnus had felt a rush of electricity surge through his whole body when their eyes had met for the first time.

He feels it again now, but it is different. Warmer, perhaps. Overwhelming, undoubtedly. But just as groundbreaking.

“I think we found each other,” he murmurs, more to himself than John, but the mediwizard hums nonetheless.

“All good,” he exclaims suddenly, straightening back up. “No internal damage and your wounds are almost completely healed up. Stay in the infirmary tonight so Maureen can monitor you but you should be fine tomorrow. You won’t even have a scar.”

“My godson is not going to be happy about that,” he retorts playfully, but he is impossibly relieved. “He thinks scars are cool.”

John chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corner. There is something familiar about him, about the kindness that exudes from him, as natural as breathing, something warm and friendly that would make anyone comfortable around him. Magnus can see what Lydia saw in him.

“Were you in Hogwarts?” he asks, sitting back up on the bed. His body still feels sore, and there is a faint prod of pain lancing in his stomach, but it is bearable.

John shakes his head, smiling. “Durmstrang,” he says. “My father wasn’t a big fan of Muggle-borns. He didn’t want me to go to a school where they were allowed.” He takes a look at Magnus, his face scrunching up in an apologetic grimace. “Sorry.”

Magnus shrugs. “Not the worse I’ve heard, trust me. Once, there was a parent who wrote a letter to Imogen to formally request that I taught my lessons with gloves on so I wouldn’t tarnish their precious children’s purity by spreading my germs all over the classroom.”

John blinks at him, lips parting in shock. “What?”

“Simon and I regularly received letters of insult,” Magnus continues, hopping down the bed. “Even before the Children of Merlin suddenly appeared out of nowhere. We’re used to it.”

He supposes there is something that can appear as shocking in the casual, almost nonchalant way he said it, but truth be told, Magnus is indeed used to the prejudice, just like Simon is, and it has been a while since they let those things affect them. The Children of Merlin are different, but Magnus has long learned to stop caring about the letters sent by bigots. Imogen used to gather them all at the end of a semester and invite Magnus and Simon to burn them in the huge fireplace in her office. It was one of his favorite things to do before the Christmas holidays.

He shrugs a shirt on, wary of his injuries, and starts walking towards Alec and Elias, still wrapped in their own little bubble.

“Hey, for what it’s worth, Lydia thinks you’re amazing,” John calls out, and Magnus stops in his tracks, quirking an eyebrow. “She said you could do magic without your wand. She sounded very impressed, and Lydia is not someone who gets impressioned easily.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed,” Magnus retorts, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “And it’s not that difficult,” he adds with a wink, wiggling his fingers in the air. A blast of blue sparkles dances around his fingers. “It’s all in the dexterity of your fingers, and I’m very good with my hands.”

John snorts, and Magnus startles when he hears a scoff in his back. He turns around to find Alec there, looking fondly exasperated, Elias standing next to him with his hand firmly tucked in Alec’s.

Magnus grins unabashedly. “I’ll prove that to you as soon as I’m back to my healthy, flawless self,” he quips, tipping his chin up to press a quick peck to his cheek. Alec’s features soften and his lips pull into that crooked smile that make Magnus’ knees weak, but Magnus doesn’t think he realizes he is doing it.

“Magnus!” Elias calls out, tugging on the hem of his shirt to grab his undivided attention. “Alec told me about the centaurs in the Forest! That’s so cool! Can we go meet them?”

“It’s called the Forbidden Forest for a reason, pumpkin,” Magnus replies, throwing a chastising glare at Alec, whose smile only broadens. “It’s a dangerous place.”

“I’m not scared!” Elias exclaims, and shoves on Alec’s hand to haul him closer. “Plus, Alec is an Auror and he can come with us.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, reaching out to ruffle the boy’s hair. “Maybe when you’re older,” he says, and the definite edge of his voice makes the protest die in Elias’ throat, who ends up pouting instead.

It seems like nothing, because there are far greater things to protect Elias against, but Magnus thinks it is a start, and he will content himself with it.

.

It is late afternoon, and Ragnor, Catarina and Elias are long gone when the infirmary doors open and Luke walks in again.

Alec is sitting on the bed, leaning against the wall as he reads one of the books on the Muggle’s way of living that Magnus keeps in his room and that he went to fetch in the afternoon, Magnus fast asleep against his shoulder.

In other circumstances, he would have let him sleep, because it is not like Luke ignores how close they are by now, but Luke isn’t alone, and the only reason why Alec doesn’t jump to his feet is that he doesn’t want to scare Magnus.

“Magnus,” he murmurs gently against his ear, closing the book on his lap. “Wake up.”

Magnus hums, his eyes fluttering open. He looks disoriented for a second, and Alec can’t help the tender smile that curls on his lips when he scrunches his nose up.

He frowns at the Aurors suddenly filling the room, but realization quickly dawns on his features as he sees who is accompanying Luke.

“Tanya,” Magnus croaks out, and clears his throat to get rid of the hoarseness. “What are you doing here?”

Tanya smirks, and Alec has to hide the surprise from his features at the sight. It isn’t the first time he finds himself in her presence, but she is always so grave, a stone cold woman with sharp features and ethereal pale skin, that that simple smirk is astonishing in itself.

There is a certain tenderness in her deep blue eyes as they settle on Magnus. “I’m still the Minister of Magic until the end of the year,” she says, and there is a fond mockery in her tone that makes Alec lift an eyebrow. “I’m allowed to visit Hogwarts every once in a while. Even more so when a dear friend of mine is attacked.”

Magnus huffs out a laugh, and he pulls back from Alec to hop down the bed, facing her. She presses kisses on both his cheeks, and darts a playful glance to Alec at Magnus’ back.

“But you seem to be doing just fine,” she taunts. “Maybe I should stop underestimating your ability to fall back on your feet once and for all.”

“I have nine lives, darling,” Magnus says with a wink. He turns back to face Alec, who is standing behind him in his soldier posture, as if awaiting orders, and gives him a small, private smile before swirling back to face Tanya. “Now, enough meandering. Why are you really here?”

If Tanya is in any way taken aback by Magnus’ bluntness, it doesn’t show on her face. Instead, she turns around towards the Aurors escorting her, and dismisses them with a wave of her hand, and Alec is bewildered by the amount of power transpiring from such a simple gesture.

Soon enough, the room is empty but for Alec, Magnus, Luke and Tanya.

Tanya takes a seat on one of the old chair in the infirmary, somehow managing to make it suddenly look like a throne, and she leans back, looking up at Magnus through her eyelashes.

“We need to talk,” she says.

“So talk,” Magnus replies, going to sit back on the edge of the bed, although his deep brown eyes don’t leave her for a second. “You didn’t come all this way to compliment my tastes in men, did you?”

The smirk is back on her face and she shakes her head, but it only comes across as fond. “You always had the best-looking ones,” she says, half reprimanding and half teasing, and Alec pushes his lips in a thin line, brow furrowed in annoyance.

He clears his throat. “Can we get to the point?” he growls, before he remembers who he is talking to. “Ma’am,” he adds for good measure.

She chuckles, her blue eyes flickering with amusement. She focuses on Magnus, and her face suddenly turns utterly serious. “Are you entirely sure you can trust everyone in this room?”

Magnus seems a bit bewildered by the question, but he nods, not an ounce of hesitation in his gaze. It makes something warm flutter in Alec’s stomach.

“Good,” Tanya says with a nod. “You all know Sebastian has announced he will be running to replace me after the motion of non-confidence is effective at the end of the year. It’s going to be there quicker than we realize. As of now, no one else has declared themselves candidate.”

“That’s because they have more respect for you than that despicable piece of shit,” Magnus blurts out, his eyes flashing with the wrath that is always there when Sebastian is mentioned.

“And I appreciate it,” Tanya replies, genuinely. “But Sebastian has already started his campaign and if no one steps forward soon, the head start he has given himself could be fatal for us.”

“What are you saying?” Magnus asks with a frown, but there is something in his voice that tells Alec he already knows.

“I think you should run,” she says with devastating simplicity, with as much ease as she would have if she was commenting the weather.

The gravity of the moment normally wouldn’t call for a fit of laughter, but Magnus seems to think otherwise because he laughs, hard and loud. He quickly simmers down when he realizes he is alone in his mirth, though, and the smile disappears from his face to be replaced by a frown.

“What?” he breathes out.

“I think you should run for Minister,” Tanya repeats, just as placidly as the first time. “You’re one of the only ones who’s always stood up to Sebastian’s bigotry. People know you.”

“Half of them hates my guts because they think my kind is responsible for all their troubles,” Magnus cuts in. “I’m a Muggle-born, Tanya. What you’re suggesting is insane.”

“We need someone strong to run against Sebastian,” she argues. “Someone the people knows, someone they can trust and believe when they call out his nonsense.”

“Yes, we do,” Magnus replies. “But that person isn’t me.”

“Then, who?” she asks through gritted teeth, clearly annoyed.

It strikes Alec that Tanya Pond is probably not used to being told no.

Magnus lifts an eyebrow, in an expression that hints at the obviousness of the answer. When Tanya doesn’t seem to understand, he turns a pointed gaze at Luke, who goes utterly still, his lips parting in shock.

“What?” Luke blurts out, mirroring Magnus’ earlier reaction. “What the hell, Magnus?”

Magnus raises two fingers in the air, calling for silence, and Alec is amazed to see Tanya and Luke, two incredibly strong characters, shut their mouths at once.

Amazed, perhaps, but he can’t say he really is surprised. There is something about Magnus, about the way he holds himself, chin up in the air and eyes flashing with defiance, about his voice when he talks about these serious issues, calm and composed but ruthless, about the indisputable logic of his arguments; something that calls for respect and the amount of respect between the three eminently powerful people in this room is beyond anything Alec has ever seen.

“People know you,” Magnus says, his impassible gaze piercing through Luke unabashedly. “They know you because as head of the Auror Department, you saved their lives countless times. Because you are one of the faces they know from the people who took down Valentine after the Uprising. Because you’re the one who gets interviewed after every success, or failure, of your department. They know you, and they know you represent authority, and safety.”

He pauses, lets his words sink in before he goes on. “You are a Half-Blood, too,” he continues, imperturbable, “which means Muggle-borns like me will be more keen to trust you than Sebastian, but also that you could win over the sympathy of Purebloods who don’t extend their prejudiced mindset to Half-Bloods. I stand no chance with these people, but you do.”

“I’m not a politician,” Luke argues, shaking his head.

“Exactly,” Magnus says with a nod. “No offense, Tanya, but people are tired of politicians. I’m not saying it is a good thing, but that’s Sebastian’s weakness, aside from who his father is. He’s a politician. A filthy rich one with that. He hides in his ivory tower while they struggle, but you don’t. You know what it is to work your fingers to the bone, like the people do, but Sebastian will never. You started out as no one, and you climbed every step to the top through hard work and unwavering morality. You’re the kind of success story people want to identify to, Luke.”

“And you’re charismatic,” Alec chimes in, for a reason he doesn’t even comprehend himself. It just seems right to do it, because perhaps Luke needs to hear it and even if he doesn’t, Alec wants to say it. “You’re a true leader. You’ve been my boss for years, Sir, and never once did I feel like you were failing me, or any of my colleagues. I’ve never seen anyone go against your word, because everyone trusts you wholeheartedly. And even when we disagree with you, you don’t dismiss us like you could to show who is in charge. You listen to us, and you take our opinion into account. That’s why everyone respects your authority and that’s why you make such a good leader.”

“You say that, but you went against my orders yourself in the last few months,” Luke says, but there is no real reprimand in his tone, and the ghost of a smile is dancing in his dark eyes.

“It happened once,” Alec counters, almost shamefully, “and it was to see my brother. You know how important my family is to me.”

“I do,” Luke replies with a nod. “And you all know how important _my_ family is to me. Going through a campaign would mean putting them at risk, and I can’t do that.”

“With all due respect, Luke,” Tanya cuts in, in that tone of hers that leaves no room for argument, “they already are at risk, by the position you hold today. It wouldn’t make much of a difference whereas their lives are threatened because you are head of the Auror Department or running for Minister of Magic. If that’s the only thing stopping you, we have the means to protect them, just like we did for Ragnor and Catarina Fell and their child.”

Luke bows his head, pinches the bridge of his nose and inhales deeply. “This was not what I expected when I came here.”

“We don’t expect you to just say yes without thinking about it,” Magnus says, gently. “You should go home and talk about it with Jocelyn. Clary is in the castle, you can talk to her about it right now. But I really think you should consider it. You’re the best option we have, much better than myself or anyone else I can think of. I know I wouldn’t blink an eye before voting for you.”

For a while, the silence is heavy in the room, but eventually, Luke heaves out a deep sigh, slouching in his chair.

“Fine,” he grumbles. “I’ll think about it.”

Magnus’ smile is so luminous, so full of hope, that Alec can’t help but fill a surge of hope rising in his chest, too.

Because he doesn’t doubt for a second that if anyone can beat Sebastian, it is Luke.

Luke has always been the best one of them all.

It is night by the time Tanya and Luke leave, with the promise that he will give them an answer by the end of the week, but Alec doesn’t doubt that it will be positive.

If there is anything that equals Luke’s fierce protectiveness over his family, it is his sense of duty for the people he has sworn to protect. They all know he must protect them now more than ever, what with the dark times they are going through.

The sky is pitch dark outside the infirmary, but Magnus is moving around, unable to stand still for more than half a minute. Alec knows it is the aftermath of all the sleeping he did because he was exhausted after John healed him, so he just watches him swirl in the room, a book in one hand, his long limbs moving gracefully under the moonlight.

He also knows, because John told him before leaving hours earlier, that he shouldn’t let Magnus exert himself too much. It isn’t good for his recovery.

He tried to make him stop several times, but Magnus only allows himself to stay still for so long before he is jumping to his feet again and pacing back and forth. There are blue sparks shimmering at the tips of his fingers, and just like that, Alec perks up with an idea.

“Magnus?” he calls out gently.

Magnus stops in his tracks and looks up from his book to Alec, a prompting flicker in his mesmerizing eyes. “Mmh?”

“Teach me?” Alec asks softly, rubbing his fingers nervously.

“Come again?”

“Teach me,” Alec repeats, more firmly, gesturing at Magnus’ hands. “To do magic without a wand. You said you’d teach me.”

Magnus smiles, and it sends a pleased shiver down Alec’s spine. “Sure.”

He walks to the bed where Alec is sitting and sits down in front of him, crossing his legs as he faces him. He holds out his hands, and Alec immediately slides his own into Magnus’, straightening his back up.

“You know that feeling you get in your hand when you’re holding your wand?” Magnus speaks lowly, voice stern and precise, and yet full of kindness. “That little spur of magic that travels under your skin?”

“Yeah,” Alec breathes out.

“Well, you have to focus on that,” Magnus says. “Take your wand out and close your eyes, love.”

Alec obliges, feeling the familiar sensation of the birch beneath his fingers, the power of the phoenix feather his wand is made of. He shares one last look with Magnus before he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply.

“Good,” Magnus says, and his voice feels like a caress in the quiet of the room. “Focus on that sensation. How the magic tickles your skin and curls around your bones.”

Alec does so, lets himself be guided by the smooth inflection of Magnus’ voice, and there is something nudging at the back of his mind, telling him that his guard is now completely down, that he is bare and vulnerable in front of Magnus. He has never allowed himself to put aside his wariness in front of someone other than his siblings or Lydia and Luke before, but he finds he does it easily right then.

“Now think about how your body reacts when you uses your wand,” Magnus whispers, or perhaps is it that Alec is so acute to his surroundings that it feels like a murmur. “The power that passes through your body and your mind when you cast a spell. Think of something relaxing, something that eases the very core of your soul.”

Alec isn’t sure why it is the first kiss they shared the day before that first comes to his mind, but he lets it happen, remembers the sensation of Magnus’ soft lips against his own, the feeling of belonging that connected them in that moment, the way his heart skipped a beat to cadence itself to Magnus’ pulse almost naturally.

His body feels lighter, suddenly, and he doesn’t realize his wand is being plucked out of his hands until Magnus tells him to open his eyes in a murmur.

Again, he obliges and when he looks down at his hands, they are glimmering with green sparks, the lights spinning between his fingers in a tentative dance.

His eyes widen slightly and when he glances up at Magnus, he is beaming with a smile, a combination of pride and excitement that is oddly contagious.

Alec raises a hand, watches the magic swirl in front of his eyes. “Wow,” he whispers, grinning.

“Well done,” Magnus quips happily. “Try to do something with it now. Think of an inoffensive spell.”

He nods sternly, and his eyes fall on the glass of water on the night table.

 _Accio_ , he thinks with all the strength he can muster.

The glass moves, floats in the air for a second. And promptly crashes on the ground, broken glass scattering all over the floor.

“Shit,” he mumbles, brow furrowed in both annoyance at himself for failing and the reminiscence of deep concentration.

Magnus giggles in front of him, and the sound is so pure, so light, that Alec almost startles, his frustration vanishing at once.

“It took me more than one try to lift a simple fork,” he says benevolently. “You did great, darling. Whatever you thought about, it seemed to work wonders. Keep that memory whenever you want to try again.”

Alec intends to keep it forever, if he is quite honest, or for as long as it will be associated with the relaxed features of Magnus when he pulled back from the kiss to study the results of his burst of courage, the way Magnus had kept his eyes shut for a little longer, as if still savouring Alec’s lips against his own.

“I will,” he promises, “but perhaps you can make sure I don’t forget.”

With these words, he reaches out to brush his thumb against the sharp line of Magnus’ jaw, tugging him closer to press their mouths together.

Magnus gasps in surprise against him, but quickly melts into the kiss, his fingers rumpling Alec’s shirt as he grabs a hold of it, hauling him closer. It is very much like their first kiss, soft and slow, unrushed in a world that seemed set on chasing them out of that relative peace they found together. It is a provocation, a rebellion.

It is them, saying together, _“look at us, look at what we have, and try to tell us it is wrong, try to rip it away from us and see if we let you”_.

 _Let them try,_ Alec thinks, pulling Magnus against him as he leans down to lie on the bed, lips folded together. _Let them try._

.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who is excited about Luke running against Sebastard??? I AM.  
> Also, I think something else happened in this chapter that was quite important, but I can't remember what exactly... I'm sure you'll tell me in the comments... mwahahaha
> 
> Yelling and conversing (yeah, we can do that too) happens on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).
> 
> This was beta'd by the always magnificent [Roja](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/). Tell her how awesome she is, because she totally is. ❤
> 
>  
> 
> All the love, cupcakes,  
> Lu. ❤


	10. To think that people had years and years, time to waste, so much time it dragged, and he was clinging to each second.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> If you didn't hate the Children of Merlin before, you sure will now.
> 
> Trigger warning for character death, the worst kind.
> 
> #lecrit to live-tweet ;).

With the mid of November comes the first snow. Alec had almost forgotten how ethereal Hogwarts looked in the winter.

The park surrounding the lake is quickly covered in a thick blanket of pearly white that stops at the fringe of the Forbidden Forest, the footsteps of the students mapping a labyrinth of paths. The denuded trees stand majestically in the horizon, the sky washed with grey. The lake isn’t fully frozen yet, but it is only a matter of time.

It all looks mesmerizing, and yet Alec can’t quite bring himself to watch the landscape’s magnificence unfold before his eyes, for he has another one that captures his whole attention.

“You’re staring, darling.”

Magnus glances away from the parchments he is grading to throw him a playful look, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He is sitting at his desk, just by the window, and the watery light of the day catches in the glitter in his hair, surrounding him with an almost celestial aura. If the scenery outside is outstandingly beautiful, it holds nothing on Magnus right in that moment.

Alec shrugs unapologetically, for he doesn’t see how he could possibly stop. Magnus bows his head down, focusing back on his papers, but there is the ghost of a smile on his lips, and the hint of a pleasant surprise in his eyes.

“Stop it,” he warns, resting his chin on his hand as he writes something down on a copy. “You’re distracting me and I need to grade these.”

Alec slouches further into the couch in Magnus’ quarters with a huff, resting his long legs on the coffee table, darting his eyes away to grab his wand and summon the book he has been reading, and opens it.

He lasts all but five minutes before he looks up again toward Magnus, and Magnus lasts two more before he growls low in his throat and throws his quill on his desk, jerking up to his feet and marching to the couch with resolute steps.

“I swear if my students don’t get their grades back in time, it’ll be on you,” he says with narrowing eyes, and promptly plucks Alec’s book out of his hand, sending it flying over his shoulder carelessly.

Alec smirks and reaches out to grab at Magnus’ hips, pulling him down and onto his lap. They move in unison and their lips crash together, Magnus’ fingers gliding into his hair.

It is overwhelming, the way they seem to fit together perfectly, the way the air leaves Alec’s lungs as soon as he finds himself in Magnus’ close vicinity like he had craved for too long. 

The world shatters around them, and winter could surrender itself to spring, and summer, and still he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but in Magnus’ arms, away from the chaos outside.

Never has he before experienced that kind of passion, the rush of adrenaline burning through his veins that compels him to slide a tentative hand under Magnus’ silky shirt and feel the smooth skin there. He can feel the way it shudders under his fingertips, and the same wave of shivers runs down his skin when Magnus’ lips trace a path from his mouth to his neck, sucking on his pulse point.

Their mutual decision of surrendering to their feelings for each other has awakened a fire Alec had struggled to keep dormant for weeks, and now that it has been kindled, it feels like he will never get enough of Magnus. That he will only feel whole for as long as he has him by his side, in the cocoon of his quarters or in the corridors of the castle, or in the battlefield on the day they will inevitably have to fight to destroy an ideology their enemies have been trying to force on their society.

He just wants Magnus close all the time, no matter the circumstances.

Magnus is just pushing the hem of Alec’s sweater up, his fingers brushing against his hip bones, when a knock on the front door rudely interrupts them.

They go still, but Magnus doesn’t move to get up, and Alec doesn’t loosen his arms around him.

“Perhaps if we’re quiet enough, they’ll go away,” Magnus murmurs against his neck, lips brushing over his skin and sending a shiver down Alec’s spine.

“It could be important,” he argues halfheartedly.

“Unless someone is dying, I don’t see what could be more important than this,” Magnus replies.

His nails - painted purple, this week - graze purposely over the sensitive skin of his stomach, as if his words weren’t clear enough.

“What if they’re dead?” Alec says, biting his bottom lip on a moan.

“If they’re dead, there’s nothing we can do for them,” Magnus retorts, and it is indisputable logic.

Another knock, stronger this time, resounds again, just as Alec is about to claim his lips back, and they groan in both frustration and annoyance. Magnus rests his head against Alec’s shoulder, heaving.

“I really hope it’s one of the Children of Merlin so I don’t feel bad about killing them,” he says.

Alec chuckles and presses a kiss on his temple before Magnus reluctantly pulls himself back on his feet, readjusting his shirt. They walk to the door together, and Alec frowns at the sight of Maureen standing there.

“Is someone dying?” he asks, unable of keeping the genuine worry out of his tone.

Maureen’s brows crease in surprise at the question. “No,” she says, and it almost sounds like she is chastising him. “It’s time for Magnus’ checkup.”

Magnus rolls his eyes. “I’m fine,” he exclaims, not for the first time in the past days.

“You were injured by dark magic,” Maureen says. “We have to monitor you to make sure nothing goes wrong.”

“She’s right,” Alec says before Magnus can open his mouth to protest.

Magnus sighs, lips pursed in annoyance. “Fine,” he grumbles, and grabs a jacket on the coat rack in the hall.

Alec smiles sympathetically. He knows Magnus hates the situation, being forced to put his welfare in other people’s hands and wish for the best when he has all the reasons to trust absolutely no one. But Alec doesn’t have the medical skills he would need to attend to Magnus’ long sewed up wounds.

He has been too used to taking care of himself on his own, and Alec has understood by now that the only way for Magnus to let himself be taken care of without protesting is to do it so he doesn’t realize it is deliberate. It is a delicate art, but Alec thinks he has managed pretty well ever since Magnus got out of the infirmary and back to the intimacy of his own quarters.

They pass by a few students on their way to the infirmary, and Hodge, who gives them a shaky smile, before striding past them in a hurry. When they get there, Maia and Isabelle are already waiting in front of the door, chatting idly.

Isabelle grins at the sight of them and drops a kiss on Alec’s cheek. “We’ll keep watch here,” she says. “Simon is whining about missing his best friend, you should pay him a visit.”

“Please,” Maia sighs. “He’s insufferable.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t need much more to convince him. Truth be told, he misses Simon too, and he could use a game of chess to take his mind off the mess his life has become, even if it means losing because he’s too distracted.

He knows Magnus is in good hands with them, and he made him promise not to stop living for his sake.

Magnus gives him a pointed glance, and Alec nods gingerly, pushing his lips together.

“I’ll meet you back in our quarters,” he says, before he can truly think about what he’s saying.

Magnus’ eyes widen slightly, but he smiles, and although there is a sudden blush blooming on Alec’s cheeks at his own lack of restraint, he smiles back.

He wants to lean in and kiss him, but he is too painfully aware of how exposed they are there, so he rolls back on his heels instead and clears his throat, before turning around to head towards the park.

He finds Simon outside the castle, just as he dismisses his students from his last Care of Magical Creatures class of the day, and the way his friend beams at the sight of him has Alec smiling despite himself.

“You can have a break,” he tells Gretel, who is in charge of protecting Simon while Isabelle and Maia are away. “I’ll be with him for the next half hour or so.”

Gretel nods, and wastes no time walking away.

“I don’t think she likes me very much,” Simon says dejectedly.

“Did you tell her about your Chocolate Frogs cards collection?” Alec asks pointedly.

Simon’s silence is enough of an answer and Alec scoffs, patting his shoulder. “You know you bore people to death with that stuff, man,” he says, not unkindly.

“Isabelle didn’t mind,” Simon replies with a pout.

“Sure she didn’t,” Alec retorts tauntingly, before jerking his head toward the park. “Come on. I need to have a walk. I’ve been stuck inside for too long.”

Simon whirls his wand in the air to get all of his stuff back in his shoulder bag and readjusts his glasses on his nose before following Alec down the path that leads to the lake.

“So I’ve heard, but I didn’t think you minded,” he says, and there is something fondly amused in his tone but when Alec turns back to him with inquisitive eyes, Simon’s face is a perfect mask of composure. “I mean, you’ve always been happy staying indoors and reading.”

Alec gives him a dubious look. “You say that like you weren’t the one spending hours with me in the library,” he deadpans.

Simon shrugs, unfazed. “Guilty. But I tend to end up with something broken if I stay outside for too long.”

Alec chuckles and slides his hands in his pockets, kicking in a rock that rolls down the rest of the way to the lake and sinks in its dark waters.

“Like that time in fifth year when you broke your arm during a Quidditch game. That you had come to watch. While sitting in the terraces.”

At the time he hadn’t laughed, but today, whenever he recalls Simon’s panicked expression and how it happened, he can’t help himself.

“Hufflepuff had scored!” Simon protests. “I was excited and I fell!”

“Yeah, I remember.” Alec smirks, nudging his arm playfully. “You deserved it for being a terrible friend and cheering for the opposite team anyway.”

“It’s my house,” Simon huffs in affront, and frowns when he catches the mischievous spark in Alec’s eyes. “Slytherin,” he grumbles.

Alec laughs, and shrugs. “There’s also the time you broke your nose by running into a wall because you were late for class,” he snorts.

He expects Simon to share his mirth, or defend his pride, but Simon falls silent at his side. When nothing comes, Alec stops, only to realize his friend has stopped a few feet behind him, face grave.

“Si?” Alec calls out, brows furrowed.

“I didn’t run into a wall.”

There is something positively devastating in the way he says it, detached and impetuous all at once. The look on his face is one Alec has never seen before, in all the years they’ve known each other and been friends.

“What?” he says, because this is all he can manage.

“I didn’t run into a wall,” Simon says again. He blinks out of his stupor and looks back at Alec, sighing. “What I ran into was a bunch of prejudiced assholes who didn’t like me hanging out with their Pureblood peers.”

Alec goes still.

It feels like a punch to the guts, or like that time Jace accidentally hit him with a Bludger and he fell off his broom and had to stay lying down for a week.

The thing is not that Alec doesn’t know that Simon is a Muggle-born. He has met Elaine, his mother and Rebecca, his sister, a few times. He has let Simon try and fail to explain him Muggle technology about a hundred times. He even drinks Muggle beer with him every once in awhile. So, Simon is a Muggle-born, but to someone like Alec, for whom it isn’t an excuse for his so-called superiority or for showcasing bigotry, it doesn’t necessarily constitute something that has followed and still follows Simon every day of his life.

In their time in Hogwarts, Simon hadn’t had many friends, and perhaps was it why Alec and he had been such good ones.

It hits him, suddenly, that if he had always been a loner by choice, perhaps it isn’t the case for Simon.

Simon is always joyful, and kind, and compassionate, and he has many qualities that could have brought him lots of friends back then. All but one.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Alec asks. He doesn’t mean to sound as accusatory as he does, but his animosity is not directed at Simon.

He realizes in the twist of his stomach that he is tired, tired of the world they live in that shuns people like Simon and Magnus who have nothing but brilliance to give back, tired of reading in the eyes of his friends the dormant hurt they try to conceal.

“Do you remember the first time we met?” Simon asks.

Alec nods. He had been in his third year and Simon had been a blabbering newbie, invading his space in the library and launching himself in a monologue about wizard’s chess, once he had realized it was what the book Alec had been reading was about.

Simon smiles at him, and there is something impossibly old in that smile, something so strikingly similar to the one Magnus bears when he tells him he is fine, that nothing truly affects him, and it rips something inside Alec, almost brings tears of frustration to his eyes.

Because Simon and Magnus both deserve better than to have a smile that is made of lies and unspoken sufferings.

“I didn’t know who you were,” Simon tells him, the same smile still etched on his face, his eyes glimmering with kindness as they settle on Alec. “I didn’t know you were a Pureblood and I probably wouldn’t have talked to you if I had. Do you remember what happened after I started talking to you?”

Alec lifts an eyebrow, confused as to where this is going. “We played chess. It was the only way to get you to stop talking. I beat you.”

He isn’t sure that detail is relevant, but he feels like it never hurts Simon to be reminded.

Simon shakes his head fondly. “Yeah,” he says. “You beat me. And when I asked to play another game to get another chance, you played another game with me. And I know you rolled your eyes a lot, and you still do, but you listened to me talk about random stuff, about my Muggle life before I got to Hogwarts and how I kind of had a crush on everyone who was remotely nice to me, and you just frowned at me the way you frowned at everyone.”

“And that made you think ‘damn, I want to be friends with that guy’,” Alec deadpans.

“Yup,” Simon says, the word popping out of his mouth with an assurance he is usually departed of. “You were the first Pureblood who ever talked to me like I was a regular annoying over-talkative boy. Not just a Muggle-born. And never a  _ Mudblood _ .”

The word sounds different in his mouth, like a weapon rather than an insult.

“I came into your world knowing nothing about it and suddenly, I was a Mudblood,” Simon continues. “I was a castaway. A lesser man, and I had to accept it because it was the way this new world worked.”

Alec purses his lips, inhaling sharply.

“You know, the worst thing about us being considered like this is that we are taught to shut up about it,” Simon says, and Alec frowns. “We are told it is natural. That even if it isn’t right, it is normal. That there is no point in fighting against prejudices that have been anchored to our world for centuries.”

Simon crosses his arms over his chest, shrugging. “That’s why I didn’t tell you, at the time,” he eludes. “I knew you would have taken Jace with you and found those stupid kids to avenge me, because that’s what you do for the people you care about. But I could see the other consequences. I could hear the voice telling me that what’s-their-name came from a very influential family of Purebloods and thus there wouldn’t be any sanction for them, only superficial ones like maybe being called out by a professor or an hour of detention. I didn’t tell you, because when you are taught to keep quiet on your issues, it takes time, courage and a whole lot of assurance to open your mouth and protest. I had none of that back then.”

Alec isn’t sure what to say. And after all, what is there for him to say?

“I don’t think people realize how groundbreaking Imogen was,” Simon says, a small, nostalgic smile curving on his lips. “She hired Magnus without batting an eye, like it was the most natural thing to do, and then she took him with her to all those official meetings in the Ministry of Magic to the point where it became normal for him to be there and he eventually became a member of the Council himself? Just because she valued his opinion?”

He scoffs, smirking. “The Children of Merlin, it’s no hazard they went after her first. She wasn’t a politician. She never made a public speech to convince anyone to agree with her. But she showed them how worthy we were instead, through Magnus. And it worked better than anything else had before.”

“She was quite extraordinary,” Alec says. It feels dull, too tedious in face of the reality of Imogen’s accomplishment, but it is all he can muster through the tightness in his throat.

“That’s why Magnus is their primary target,” Simon asserts, throwing Alec a pointed look. “Because she made him the face of the Muggle-borns, whether she intended to or not. Because he opened his mouth, and he had the courage, and the assurance to take us out of our compliant silence. It has nothing to do with a Muggle-born teaching at Hogwarts, Alec. I don’t think even Magnus realizes exactly how important he is. Not as a person - although he is too, of course - but as a public endorser of our struggles.”

Alec hums, but it is only to conceal the dread that just fell on his shoulders, sending a long shiver down his spine.

They have reached the doors to the castle, and Alec stops in the threshold, running a hand at the nape of his neck, heaving. “I’m sorry,” he says, lowly.

Simon scoffs, patting his shoulder. “I know you are, but I’m not sure why. None of this is your fault.”

“I have known personally every single member of the Children of Merlin that has been arrested so far,” Alec retorts, with a grimace that certainly doesn’t render justice to his internal turmoil. “One of them is my own mother. I should have seen it coming.”

“We never expect the worse from the people we love,” Simon says. “Even when we know their faults.” His grave expression turns into one of his cheerful, genuine grins, and Alec wonders where he finds the strength. “For now, there’s not much we can do but keep living. That’s what they hate the most about us, after all. Come on, I’ll feel better after I’ve kicked your ass at wizard’s chess.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but he can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips at the familiarity. “It’s funny that after all these years, you still believe that.”

“Be nice to me or I’ll tell your boyfriend,” Simon quips.

“He’s not -” Alec starts, but he cuts himself before he can finish because… Well, he probably is.

Simon is walking away before he can comment on Alec’s flushing cheeks, but if the smirk he is sporting as they walk to the Hufflepuff Basement is anything to go by, he knows.

.

Magnus has an infinite amount of patience for many, many things.

It is a required quality when one must deal with teenagers all day long, and it is probably the only reason why he still hasn’t killed Sebastian Morgenstern. His maitrise of the art of Charms is yet another proof. He wouldn’t have achieved this level of expertise if he was short-tempered.

There is one thing he doesn’t have patience for, however, and it’s lying down on a bed if it’s not to sleep or to engage in other, much more enjoyable activities.

Maureen is standing by the bed next to him, her wand hovering over his chest in precise movements, red sparks poking against his skin. It isn’t painful, but the sensation is disagreeable, like an itch that he can’t get rid of no matter how much he scratches.

“I’m almost done,” Maureen tells him, and Magnus doesn’t try to hide his relieved sigh.

She smiles at him, in that overly cheerful way of her, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Magnus wants to tell her she doesn’t have to pretend around him, that there is no reason for them to act like they don’t know how horrendous the situation is when he is lying on a hospital bed for her to scrutinize him for reminiscences of dark magic after he got attacked in the corridors of a place that has always been safe to him.

He doesn’t, because if Maureen wants to force a grin on her lips to pretend things are not as bad as they seem, he won’t be the one to burst her bubble of hope, no matter how delusional it is.

She steps away after a while, and Magnus sits up immediately, stretching the soreness out of his muscles, straining his neck to ease the nerves off his shoulders.

“All good,” Maureen quips, unsurprisingly.

“Just like it was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that,” he trails off with a flourish of his hand.

Maureen smiles with something like fondness, a certain familiarity in the way it tugs into a smirk as if he was one of the many students she sees every day between these very walls. “It’s for your own good, Magnus,” she says. “John said the after-effects of the spell could be unpredictable.” 

“What’s going to happen to the Whitelaw kids, by the way?” Maia chimes in.

She is sitting on a chair a bit further, feet propped up on the edge of the window that gives on the Forbidden Forest.

Magnus shrugs his shirt back on. “They got detention.”

“And?”

“And that’s it,” Magnus says with absolute finality.

“What?” Maia exclaims, his eyebrows shooting up in shock. “They almost killed you! And don’t tell me you believe their bullshit excuse! They should’ve been expelled!”

Magnus shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. “And then, they would have joined the ranks of the Children of Merlin and they’d have been lost to reason forever,” he argues. “At least here, we can keep an eye on them. We can try to teach them a better way. What good does it do if we just throw them out without trying?”

Maia, Isabelle and Maureen all stare at him in silence for a while, and he takes the opportunity to button up his shirt, brows furrowed stubbornly.

“Did it ever occur to you that perhaps they don’t want to be taught otherwise?” Maureen asks, her voice placid, cold with fatalism. “Perhaps they truly believe in the Children of Merlin?”

When he glances at her, she smiles, though, but the facade is quickly crumbling.

“It did,” Magnus says, because it’s true. “But that doesn’t mean I should give up on them altogether. They’re children. Just children.”

“They’re little shits,” Maia blurts out.

Magnus’ lips twitch with the beginning of a smirk, and his face pulls into a grimace of agreement, but he doesn’t answer.

“You’re the one who told Tessa not to expel them, aren’t you?” Isabelle asks, but it sounds more like an affirmation than a question, so Magnus doesn’t bother answering.

His silence is enough to bring an amused grin to Isabelle’s mouth. “You’re a good man, Magnus,” she says simply. “Not that I ever believed otherwise. My brother wouldn’t be so smitten with you if you weren’t.” She pauses, her playful expression turning thoughtful. “Now that I think about it, I really should have introduced you two earlier.”

“I can’t believe you’re only realizing it now,” Magnus replies with a dramatic sigh. “I could have been swooning over his arms for ages. So much time wasted.”

Isabelle chuckles. “Honestly, I never even thought about it,” she admits. “You two are so different.”

Magnus shrugs. “We agree on the things that matter,” he replies. “For the rest, I guess we’re both willing to make efforts.”

Isabelle beams, and it makes Magnus smile back and something warm twirl in his stomach.

.

Alec leaves Simon’s quarters right before dinner, a light smile playing on his lips - and he could try to pretend it isn’t mostly due to the fact that he beat Simon, but there is no point. Alec is competitive and he likes winning, so he does feel oddly satisfied with himself.

That is probably why when he runs into Magnus in the corridor on his way back to the Ravenclaw tower, he doesn’t immediately notice something is off.

“Hey,” he says.

Magnus smiles back, a small, sly thing that Alec has never witnessed before. “Hey. What got you into such a good mood?”

“I beat Simon,” Alec replies with unabashed pride. He casts a glance over his shoulder, scans the corridor quickly to check it is indeed empty and whirls back toward Magnus, gripping his hips to haul him closer.

Magnus seems surprised by the gesture. His eyes widen and his arms stay flat against his sides.

“Are you okay?” Alec asks sheepishly, worrying on his bottom lip. When Magnus doesn’t reply, still staring at him dubiously, he takes a step back. “Shit, am I being too forward? We shouldn’t be so close in a public setting. I’m sorry. I just… Well, there’s no one, and I’m just really glad you’re okay and -”

Magnus blinks his bewilderment away. “Alec,” he says, and Alec frowns. He isn’t used to Magnus using the name he has chosen for himself rather than his given one. “It’s okay. I just didn’t expect it.”

Alec reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck nervously, face flushing with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

Magnus’ eyes glimmer with a mischievous spark and he cups a hand against his neck, and the other on the crook of his elbow, pulling him closer. Alec goes willingly, heaving out a relieved breath, settling his hands back on Magnus’ hips.

“I missed you,” Magnus murmurs, tipping his head up to brush his lips against his own.

Alec hums low in his throat. “I missed you too,” he whispers, and presses their mouths together.

It is different from the kisses they have shared before, perhaps because they are in a very public setting, and that neither of them wants to get caught. There is something wary about the way Magnus kisses him, like it is the first time and he isn’t quite sure what to do.

Alec pulls back panting nonetheless. “Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” he asks with a frown.

Magnus nods hastily, his fingers curling in his hair to pull him back for more. This time, he is almost too enthusiastic, and it fails to bring to his spine the wave of shivers Alec always eagerly awaits when kissing Magnus, but he doesn’t complain, not when his tongue parts his lips expertly and slides inside his mouth to dance with his own.

Magnus pulls back, his eyes boring into Alec’s as he tugs on his bottom lip with his teeth before releasing him completely, and Alec is struck by the hollowness of his gaze.

He frowns. “Magnus,” he groans. “Seriously, what’s wrong?”

The annoyed frown on Magnus’ face is what brings him back to reality. “And what are you doing here alone?” he blurts out. “You’re not supposed to walk around on your own!”

“I can defend myself, Alec,” Magnus retorts, drawing back completely, and Alec forces himself not to reach out. “I have a meeting with Tessa, concerning the Whitelaws again.”

“Still, why didn’t Izzy and Maia escort you there? They have orders.”

“But I don’t!” Magnus snaps.

Alec takes a step back, shock written all over his features.

Magnus heaves out a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry,” he sighs. “I just - I don’t want to depend on them, or you, for everything. I can walk to Tessa’s office on my own, but if it truly makes you feel better, you can walk me there.”

Alec purses his lips, brows furrowed, and nods.

The walk to the Headmaster’s Tower is quiet, and Alec tries in vain to keep his thoughts from whirling in all the wrong directions. He knows Magnus is frustrated by the situation. He knows he values his freedom too much not to be, but since he got attacked by the Whitelaws, his reluctance has simmered down, or at least he kept it hushed down until now.

“You know it’s for your own good,” he says quietly as they stride through the Gargoyle Corridor, stopping in front of the statue. “You can’t get hurt again. I… I can’t let you get hurt again.”

Magnus nods gingerly. “I won’t,” he sighs.

The tenderness on his features seems a bit forced when he glances up at Alec, like he is trying to hard to reassure him, to have him believe he is indeed fine. Simon’s words echo in his mind, but Alec doesn’t tell Magnus about his qualms. Instead, he leans in, pressing another quick kiss to his lips.

“I’ll meet you back here in an hour,” Alec says. “We’ll talk about it over dinner.”

Magnus gives him a small smile, and Alec turns on his heels to walk away, his stomach lurching. He catches a glimpse of Magnus facing the gargoyle and uttering the password before he turns away at the corner, heading back to Magnus’ quarters.

.

Magnus can’t help the grin that etches upon his face at the sound of the front door opening, and he disregards his quill carelessly to jerk to his feet and greet Alec in the hall of his quarters.

Alec doesn’t seem to share his enthusiasm, because he shrugs off his robe and swirls around, but freezes completely at the sight of Magnus.

“What are you doing here?” Alec blurts out.

Magnus lifts an eyebrow in surprise. “I live here, Alexander,” he says pointedly. “You told me earlier that you’d meet me back in our quarters.”

Somehow, it ends up sounding like a question more than an affirmation, because the shock on Alec’s features makes worry spur through his whole body.

“I-I just left you,” Alec breathes out, with a look of complete horror. “At Tessa’s office.”

Magnus blinks in confusion. “I’ve been here for about half an hour,” he says, slowly. “Izzy and Maia walked me back after Maureen was done auscultating me. I was waiting for you to ask Mimon to bring us dinner up.”

Alec shakes his head. “No.” The gravity of his tone makes Magnus’ heart miss a beat. “Magnus, I just left you in front of Tessa’s office. We ran into each other in the corridor. We kissed, and it felt weird and you were acting off, and we argued because you were on your own, so I walked you there for a meeting about the Whitelaws.”

Magnus gasps for air, but his lungs remain stubbornly dry.

“It wasn’t you,” Alec whispers, eyes lost in nothingness. He gulps hard, and his eyes are frantic when they meet Magnus’ again. “Magnus, I just kissed the mole.”

The scream tears through the castle like a thousand shards of broken glass.

It is the kind of scream that makes blood run cold, and Magnus’ breath hitches in his throat.

He realizes a moment too late that the Children of Merlin have just won yet another battle.

They don’t bother grabbing their robes or even a jacket as they bolt through the door and towards the scream. It hasn’t stopped, and even with the adrenaline pulsing through his veins, pushing him to run faster than he has ever run, Magnus knows they are too late.

.

The screams have stopped when they get to the East corridor, but somehow, Magnus misses them instantly. He tries to drink in the silence to resist the fear that is threatening to engulf him whole, but his efforts remain vain.

There is no solace to be found in this kind of silence. He feels it in the very core of his soul, and it makes his whole body shudder with dread.

Suddenly, he is back in Norway, in the battlefield all these years ago when Durmstrang had been attacked because of the law that now required them to allow Muggle-borns among their walls.

This was the first time Magnus ever saw a dead body, but they had been adults, the local equivalent of Aurors here. He has seen more bodies on the day of the first attack of the Children of Merlin during the Quidditch match, but the whole scenery had been a mess, and Magnus had been too busy trying to help the injured to focus on the dead.

Yet, nothing has prepared him to seeing one in the safe barricade that Hogwarts has failed to be in the past months.

The sound of his footsteps resonate in a deafening, morbid song through his whole body as he marches closer to the body lying on the ground. It looks too frail, too small.

It’s the body of a child, and Magnus barely holds back a sob.

It’s Elias. It’s Max. It’s Emma, and Julian. It’s all the children Magnus has failed by allowing a monster amidst those walls, and yet it’s not.

Adam Whitelaw’s eyes stare back at him, and when they were once full of the hatred he spat out in Magnus’ face, refusing to have him as much as brush him to put the Sorting Hat on his head, now they are hollow, safe from the perils of this world.

No harm can come to him now.

The screams didn’t come from him. Avada Kedavra is quick and painless for the one it hits. It is the ones it leaves behind that hurt the most.

Curled up over Adam’s lifeless body is Grace, his twin sister. She is sobbing and Magnus is so focused on her, on the pure devastation that emanates of her in mortifying waves, that he doesn’t realize the silence has broken and the small crowd gathered in the corridor is now whispering.

“Grace,” he calls out softly.

Alec’s hand settles on his lower back, and Magnus tries to tether himself to his touch, but as he takes a cautious step closer, her head jerks up to glance at him and she screams again, the sound ripping at Magnus’ heartstrings ruthlessly, and cowers backwards.

“No!” she yells, blue eyes wide with fear. “You did this! You did this!”

Before Magnus can comprehend what is happening - although, he knows - he is hunched away from Alec, and a fist slams in his face, and he is propelled against the wall. His mind is benumbed enough that it dulls the reality, and he barely feels the pain.

When he blinks out of his stupor, Alec is standing in front of him, his wand held menacingly towards the student who punched him. The child who punched him, for they are all children.

It’s Henri, the eldest Whitelaw. Tears are streaming down his face, and he chokes on a sob as he yells at Alec, “He killed him! He killed Adam! We saw him!”

“It wasn’t me,” Magnus says, but his voice is weak and defeated, and no one can hear him.

“It wasn’t him,” Alec says firmly.

“We saw him!” Henri repeats desperately. “I saw him like I see you right now. This Mudblood killed my little brother!” His face is a mirror of pure fury and sorrow as his azure eyes settle on Magnus. “Why?” he howls. “I was the one who cast that spell on you! Adam had nothing to do with it! He was eleven!  _ Eleven _ !”

“It wasn’t me,” Magnus tries again, with more strength, but still too little of it.

But it was someone with his face, and they have no way to prove it.

They are all pawns in the Children of Merlin’s game of death, and Magnus has lost. Again.

“I saw him too,” comes another voice, but Magnus’ mind is too busy being devoured by sorrow to put a name on it.

It is followed by another, and another, and there is nothing Magnus can do but listen to the litany of accusations.

Magnus has always known the cruelty of the Children of Merlin knows no bound, but perhaps had he underestimated their utter inhumanity.

This isn’t about throwing Magnus in Azkaban, although he knows this is what awaits him. It is about destroying everything that makes him who he is. It is about making an example of the malice and wickedness of his kind through him.

And is there anything more evil than the murder of a child?

His eyes fall on Adam’s limp body again and he lets himself slide down the wall he has been cornered against.

This is what they made of him.

“They won,” he whispers to himself, and to the void in Adam’s gaze.

He almost expects to be hit again when a pair of strong hands cups his face, but then it wipes the blood dripping of his nose, and Magnus blinks out of his daze and Raphael’s face is staring back at him, panic written all over his usually callous features.

“Magnus, what happened?” he asks, and Magnus has no hopeful answer to give him.

“They won,” he says again.

He feels drained, like they sucked the life out of him as well as Adam’s.

Raphael’s hold tightens, and Magnus is forced back towards him.

“He’s just a child,” he says, choking on the lump in his throat. “It wasn’t me. I would never -”

“I know,” Raphael cuts in. “Magnus, I know. We need to get you out of here before you end up like him, though.”

“Do you think they let you paint your nails in Azkaban?” Magnus mutters, but the desperation is too obvious in is tone to fool Raphael.

“Shut up,” he growls. “Get up.”

Magnus blinks, and looks up at the scene in front of him. A group of Aurors is surrounding the students that witnessed the murder, and Alec is still standing in front of him, his whole body displaying a protectiveness Magnus knows is trivial.

They had said, in that alley in Hogsmeade, what seems to be an eternity ago, that they didn’t want to make a martyr out of him.

What they wanted is a scapegoat, to vilify his whole kind through him, and Magnus didn’t see them coming.

None of them saw them coming, and now a child is dead.

A child who had never displayed the innocence of his age, a child who had hated Magnus from the first time he had seen him because of how he was born, but a child nonetheless.

Do they truly hate him that much? Is his existence such a threat to their own that they would pin a child’s murder on him to make him disappear? To turn him into a monster he is not?

Raphael pulls him up to his feet unceremoniously. “Come on.”

He lets Raphael drag him away from the angry cries, from the damnation of this corridor, and Magnus only realizes Alec is following when he joins them in two strides, his face pulled into a mask of wrath, and something else Magnus can’t quite decipher.

They reach his quarters in record time, and before Magnus can say a word, Alec and Raphael are both moving around the room, gathering books, and clothes, and everything they deem useful, before shoving it into a magically amplified bag.

“W-What are you doing?” Magnus asks when he recovers the ability to speak.

His own voice sounds foreign to his own ears, like his conscience has left his body and someone else is talking in his place.

“You have to run away,” Alec says abruptly, his tone leaving no room for negotiation.

Magnus inhales deeply. Somehow, the words seem enough to bring him back to reality, and he runs a hand on his face, biting on the inside of his cheek to hold back tears.

“I can’t,” he breathes out.

“You have to,” Alec retorts stubbornly. “I’m not arresting you, and they’re going to make Luke arrest you, which means I will have to arrest you and I won’t. You have to run away.”

“To go where?” Magnus scoffs, cursing his dismay that makes every word tremble. “We all know here what will be the headline of the Daily Prophet tomorrow morning. There is nowhere I can go. I did nothing wrong. I’ll take Veritaserum and they’ll know I’m telling the truth.”

Alec huffs in frustration, stopping in his tracks abruptly to stride the distance between them. “Magnus, you can do wandless magic,” he says. “No one else can.”

Magnus frowns. “Is that even relevant right now?” he sighs.

“We can’t trust the Ministry,” Alec replies with a nod. “We can’t even trust the Auror department. There is no one we can trust to give you a partial chance of explaining what happened and it could be years before it happens. If you offer to take Veritaserum to prove your innocence, they will argue that you might be strong enough to deflect its effects, just like you are strong enough to do wandless magic. We don’t know the extend of the Children of Merlin.” He cups Magnus’ face between his hands, his eyes boring into his own, steady and imploring all at once. “I’ll come with you, but please, you have to run away. You’ll be dead before you can open your mouth to claim your innocence. This isn’t some random accusation. They’re pining a child’s murder on you.”

Somehow, the words spilling from Alec’s mouth make the situation all the more concrete.

Magnus has faced a lot ever since he got his letter from Hogwarts when he was eleven.

He has long stopped crying because of the bigotry of the world.

He didn’t cry when the stadium exploded, ripping countless lives, and destroying even more.

He didn’t cry when Adam and Grace Whitelaw refused to let him touch them because of what he is, because of who he is.

He didn’t cry when Sebastian had Tanya voted out of her position and condemned their world to chaos.

He didn’t cry when he was attacked in the place that has been his home for years, and his safety was taken away from him.

But this. This is too much.

This is his reputation, his job, his pride.

This is his freedom and his morals, ripped away from him by the vilest crime of all.

This is his identity, stolen to uphold an ideology he has been fighting for as long as he can remember.

So, Magnus cries.

The walls he has been so carefully building up collapse all at once, and he yields.

Alec wraps his arms around him immediately, and Magnus’ tears burst forth, drenching his neck, pouring out of his heart like a torrent of misery.

“Please,” Alec murmurs against his ear, his voice trembling with something akin to a plea. “We can still win, but we need to hide you for that. We can’t let them have you.”

Magnus nods against his neck, despite the broken sobs drilling through his mind, his muscles, his bones, his guts. His soul.

He hears movement in his back, and he knows Alec motioned for Raphael to go back to packing their stuff, but he doesn’t move to help, and neither does Alec. He tightens his hold around Magnus’ shoulders, rocking him back and forth in his arms like he could somehow soothe his sorrow away.

There is a rawness to his cries, because they come from an open wound, one that he doesn’t know how to heal now that his defences have been washed away with tears he has held back for too long.

It feels like he has been crying for hours when Alec’s lips brush against his ear, whispering. “Magnus, we have to leave now.”

Magnus forces himself to breathe, focusing his whole attention on Alec’s hand running up and down his back soothingly.

He sniffs, wiping his nose on the sleeve of his sweater. He never wants to wear it again anyway. He wants to burn it with every memory of his day, forget it has ever happened.

“Do you have a safe house somewhere?” Raphael asks in his back. “Somewhere even the Auror department doesn’t know of?”

Magnus feels more than he sees Alec shaking his head.

“We can hide in the Muggle world,” he says. “I’ll ask Jace to send me money.”

“That would only expose him,” Raphael argues. “They would accuse him of being an accomplice.”

Alec falls silent, and Magnus finally pulls back, wiping the dampness from his cheeks.

“I know where to go,” he says, quivering. “Wherever we go outside these walls, they will find us eventually.”

Raphael and Alec both stare at him, confused.

“If we disappear, they'd never look for us inside the castle,” Magnus eludes.

The silence that follows is heavy, thick with a dawning sense of dread.

.

_ I need a solution to my problems _ , Magnus thinks with all the strength he has left as he paces back and forth in the seventh floor corridor, Alec silently keeping watch at his side. _ I need an escape. I need a place to be safe from the Children of Merlin. _

A door appears in the wall, empty a minute ago, and Alec reaches out and swings it open, motioning for Magnus to go in.

The Room of Requirement has turned into a cosy apartment, a fire kindling in the fireplace against the wall, surrounded by a couch and two armchairs that look comfortable enough to be slept in.

On the opposite side, a wide bed seems to be calling for him, the silky sheets shifting between dark blue and green, and Magnus almost runs to it, exhaustion drawing him forward.

He doesn't pay attention to the rest of the room, and even less so when Alec's hand slips into his as the door vanishes in his back, locking them safely inside.

Heaving out, Magnus looks up at him, worrying on his bottom lip. He feels raw and vulnerable and his head is throbbing, an aftermath to his earlier breakdown, but Alec looks back with nothing but that deep-seated kindness Magnus has come to associate with him.

His fingers brush against his cheekbone and Magnus finds himself leaning into the touch, his heart rummaging in his chest.

“We'll fix this,” Alec says, and the confidence of his tone makes Magnus nod. “We will win.”

Because this is what it is about.

This is war, and they are losing.

Magnus doesn't reply, because today of all days, he can’t bring himself to hope.

Tomorrow, maybe. But not today.

Instead, he tips his head up and lets their lips fold together, lets his heart ease with the sensation of Alec's fingers slipping in his hair. He lets himself be loved, despite the monstrosity they want to accuse him of.

Here, there is no one to judge, no one to stop them, no one to fight.

“I'm gone for three months and the world falls apart,” a voice sighs, breaking their moment of respite.

They break apart with a start, reaching for their wands in a same movement.

“I can't say that I'm surprised, though.”

Magnus frowns, sharing a wary look with Alec.

The room seems empty but for the two of them, and there is something awfully familiar about that voice, about the sarcasm edging it. Something warm and…

Magnus startles, his eyes widening.

“Imogen?”

“Over here, dear.”

Alec and he turn in a same movement. Over the fireplace, hanging against the wall, is a portrait of Imogen Herondale, her stern eyes flashing with boredom, hair pulled back in a strict ponytail that adds years to the wrinkles on her pale face.

She lifts an eyebrow at them.

“Well,” the painting says, voice dragging with expectation, “I hope you have a good explanation for this and this isn't an excuse for you two to elope because I have an immediate view on that bed.”

Magnus blinks up at her, speechless.

Even in death, Imogen Herondale manages to amaze him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).
> 
> This was beta'd by the amazing [Roja](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/).
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu. ❤


	11. It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> This chapter was supposed to be much longer, but I was happy with that ending and continuing it would have wasted it so here we go! A not-so monster chapter for you precious beans!
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> Ps: forever and always #lecrit to live-tweet.

Magnus wakes up to the sound of Alec’s voice, quiet and peaceful.

He hasn’t slept much that night, hedging between consciousness and feeble slumber, but eventually he had dozed off completely, exhaustion pulling him over the edge. He vaguely recalls Alec staying awake too, lying in bed with him, holding him through the night and murmuring reassuring words in his ear until he had fallen asleep and Magnus had been lulled by the steady rhythm of his heartbeats and his soft snores against his ear.

He is a bit dazed by his surroundings, at first, before he remembers that this is the Room of Requirement, and the events that led them to hide there. His heart feels heavy in his chest and he curls up on the bed, hoping to fall asleep again to wake up later to a world where his reality is different, where no one is accusing him of murdering a child for the sake of revenge.

Revenge is a belied concept, he realizes as he blinks his eyes open, staring at the mug of tea waiting for him on the night table. He had never seeked it before, despite how many reasons he had had to.

Now, however, he can feel it slowly creeping into his bones and gnawing at his soul, relentless and unceasing. It’s a need, pouring into him in waves, curling around his every bone, clenching around his heart, a need that can only be cured by the sharp, cruel hand of vengeance.

He has reached his limit, and if his walls crumbled the night before and he let Alec wash away his tears with soothing words and smooth brushes of his fingers, Magnus is not one to let himself be brought down without a fight.

He pushes on his elbows to sit in the bed, quietly, and grabs the mug. The tea is still hot, albeit not enough to burn his tongue, and the first sip feels like heaven in his mouth.

Alec is standing by the fireplace on the other side of the room but he can’t see him, hidden behind a blackboard that he hadn’t noticed the night before. Magnus has no idea how it got there, but the Room of Requirement works mysterious ways, so he isn’t really surprised.

He can hear him speaking in hushed, soft intonations, and Magnus would normally be worried about Alec talking to himself, but this is far from the most troubling thing in his mind in the dark times they’re living.

He can’t even see Alec’s face, just his legs, the wheeled board reaching mid-thighs.

It is that fact alone that pushes Magnus to get out of bed.

He doesn’t know - or maybe he does, but the thought is frankly frightening - why he feels the need to see Alec’s face. Perhaps it is to remind himself that there are still people willing to fight for him, that there is still some good in this world and that Magnus somehow managed to find it, and hold on to it.

“Hey,” he says, voice pitched low, as he approaches Alec.

His face brightens when he sees Magnus, frown vanishing at once.

“Hey,” Alec replies, striding the distance between them to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Magnus is momentarily stunned by the ease such a simple act can display, and even more by how effortlessly it brings a smile to his lips, small and faint, but a smile nonetheless, and he hadn’t thought himself capable of even that until right then.

“Thanks for the tea,” he mutters against Alec’s mouth, the mug huddled in his hands between them.

Alec doesn’t reply, simply kisses him again and turns back around to face the board.

“What’s this?” Magnus asks as his eyes dart over it, widening leisurely.

There is a list of names written there, in different colors, and Magnus recognizes all of them. Most of them are people working in Hogwarts, including the Aurors who have only been there since September, and Raphael who has taken the position of Quidditch teacher temporarily. There are other names that Magnus recognizes too: Sebastian, Valentine, Tanya Pond, even Ragnor and Maryse Lightwood.

“If we’re going to be stuck here,” Alec says, “might as well make the best of it. With our three brains combined, I’m sure we can figure out a few things.”

Magnus lifts an eyebrow, sending him a dubious look. “Three?”

“Good morning, dear,” Imogen’s voice quips from the wall.

Oh. Three. Magnus had thought Imogen’s portrait welcoming them to the Room of Requirement had been a fragment of his imagination, a token of his sanity slowly slipping away but when he turns around to face the wall, the painting is indeed there, Imogen looking down at him with the ghost of a smirk on her lips.

“Imogen helped me,” Alec clarifies with a smile, gesturing at the Headmaster’s portrait hanging on the wall over his shoulder.

“I like this one,” she whispers to Magnus, not even close to discrete. “You should keep him. You always had terrible tastes in significant others.”

“You were the one who introduced me to Imasu,” Magnus retorts, deadpan.

Imogen dismisses his comment with a flourish. “Imasu was great. You two just weren’t made for each other. You had terrible tastes when you chose them yourself.”

“You just mean Camille,” Magnus sighs, shaking his head. “You hated Camille, and you were right and I was an idiot. Get over it. You’re dead.”

There is the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of Imogen’s mouth, and even in a painting, he can surmise the fond amusement in her gaze.

He chooses to ignore her, focusing back on Alec instead, who is watching the scene with a smirk of his own.

“How long have you been up?” he says, eyes drifting to the blackboard.

“Couple of hours,” Alec replies quickly. “I took a shower and then I didn’t want to wake you up, but I didn’t know what to do so I started doing this.”

“What’s with the colors?” Magnus asks, taking a sip of his tea as he scans the board.

“Red is the people we know for sure to be members of the so-called Children of Merlin,” Alec says, pointing at his mother’s name, Alastair Whitelaw’s and Nicolas Shaw’s, although there are the words ‘dead - Muggle department MoM’ next to that particular name. “Yellow is the ones we know are linked to them somehow.” He points to Sebastian and Valentine then, and seems to be disappointed to be unable to point at more. “The names that are circled are known former members of Valentine’s Circle.” 

Montclaire, Verlac, Pontmercy, Lightwood and Whitelaw.

They are the primary suspects of the investigation to find the Children of Merlin, Luke has told them repeatedly, without ever revealing more of the confidential details, not to Magnus at least.

On the other side of the board are listed the names of the people in Hogwarts, and it is clearly another investigation going on there, one to find the mole. There isn’t much there but a list of names and the word ‘Polyjuice’ written in capital letters.

“It could be anyone,” Alec sighs when he catches Magnus’ gaze drifting to that part.

“We have two options,” Magnus says, shuffling closer to snuggle against Alec’s chest, just because he can.

Just because he needs it. Just because he wants to reassure himself that even if their investigation ends up showing that every single person on that board is a bigoted murderer who wants Magnus dead, Alec is there and he isn’t going anywhere.

Alec wraps an arm over his shoulders, his fingers trailing along the skin of his arm.

“It’s either one of these,” Magnus continues, indicating the list of names, “using Polyjuice potion periodically, like yesterday when they used my face, or it’s someone who has taken their appearance permanently, but then they’d need a lot of Polyjuice potion. At least a dose everyday to keep the mask on at all times.”

Alec nods. “Yeah, that’s what I’ve got so far, too.  I don’t think it can be one of the students.”

“Why not?” Magnus asks, although the thought is oddly alleviating.

If Adam’s murder has taught him anything, it is that children are always the worst casualties in a war, and he can’t bring himself to think the Children of Merlin would have managed to corrupt one enough to kill one of theirs at such an early age.

“Because they knew the password to the Headmaster’s office,” Alec answers. “Yesterday, when I walked the fake you to Tessa’s office, I turned around one last time before I walked away, and whoever it was, they said the right password. The gargoyle opened for them. I don’t think they actually went in. They just waited for me to be gone to go backwards and find the Whitelaws to kill Adam.”

“It could be one of the students who knows the password, though,” Magnus argues.

“But then, someone in the teaching staff would have told them,” Alec replies. “So even if the mole is indeed a student, there is someone at a higher rank helping them.”

Magnus nods, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Every teacher knows the password to Tessa’s office.”

“Only Lydia, Izzy, Maia and I among the Aurors,” Alec says.

“And you trust them.”

“I do,” he says, with absolute confidence. “I trust my friends, but who says they truly are who they say they are?”

Magnus heaves out a deep sigh. “So it could be anyone, but if it’s a student, there has to be someone helping them.”

“Plus, someone who somehow managed to get a hair from you,” Alec says. “That’s what I’ve got so far.”

Which is pretty much nothing, Magnus thinks dejectedly, but doesn’t say out loud.

They are nowhere near finding the real culprit and even if they do, what good is it going to do? Who are they going to present the evidence to?

Alec said it himself: they don’t know the extend of the Children of Merlin.

They could be infiltrated inside the Ministry of Magic and then they wouldn’t lift a finger. They might even be inside the Auror Department and they would arrest Magnus - and Alec, because it is quite clear that him disappearing with Magnus made him an accomplice to what they want to accuse him of - without further ado.

And then what? Well, then they would have what they wanted from the very beginning: to vilify the Muggle-borns through Magnus by destroying the image of a moral compass he has crafted despite himself.

He wants to let himself hope. He wants to believe that they will win eventually, no matter how long it takes, but it is proven difficult when he can’t picture his future as anything but the cold walls of Azkaban, and the madness and desperation they contain.

“Magnus,” Alec says softly, shifting to position himself in front of him, effectively hiding the board from him.

Magnus glances up, hazel eyes looking back at him with a combination of resolve and affection that makes his stomach squirm with warmth.

It is too much, in that moment, more than Magnus can bring himself to accept, so he pushes forward and buries his head in Alec’s neck, breathing him in.

“I’m sorry,” Alec murmurs against his ear, running a comforting hand along his back.

Magnus frowns, although Alec can’t see it. “Why are you apologizing for?”

“I have nothing,” he sighs tediously. “I wish I could be of more help.”

Magnus blinks in stupor and shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. He draws back to gaze at Alec, cupping his neck and running his thumb along his jawline.

“You are more helpful than you know,” he says. “You’re the only thing that prevents me from completely slipping away.”

Alec smiles, his cheeks flushing slightly, and Magnus smiles back, pulling him down to kiss him. Alec parts his lips at once, humming against his mouth, and his hold tightens around Magnus’ shoulders until he is completely enveloped in his arms.

The world vanishes around them and soon, there is nothing but the two of them, and Magnus ponders that he wouldn’t mind staying right there forever, where he feels safe and -

“You two make a lovely couple,” Imogen declares solemnly behind them.

Magnus pulls away and groans, resting his forehead against Alec’s temple.

“Go away, Imogen,” he mumbles.

“I would, but there’s nothing happening in my other paintings,” she replies, shrugging. “And while you two were busy ‘making out’, as the youngsters say, I couldn’t help but notice that Alexander didn’t circle Mr. Starkweather’s name.”

Alec and Magnus share a confused look, before turning towards the painting in a same movement. “What?”

“Hodge Starkweather,” Imogen replies on a tone that suggests evidence. “He’s a former Circle member, too.”

“What?” Magnus exclaims, outraged. “And you made him the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor? What the fuck were you thinking?”

Imogen curves an eyebrow. “Mind your tone, young man,” she says, looking utterly unimpressed. “Show some respect to the dead.”

Magnus glares at the painting, wondering how rude it would be considered to rip it off the wall and throw it in the fire. Probably very rude. He is very tempted nonetheless.

Imogen rolls her eyes. “People change, Magnus,” she says sternly. “Mr. Starkweather turned his back on Valentine before he was arrested. He actually was of great assistance to the operation that led to his arrestation.”

“So was my mother,” Alec retorts, acerb. “And yet she took part in the attack of the Quidditch match, and your assassination, Ma’am.”

Magnus reaches out to grab his hand, squeezing it lightly in comfort.

“Why haven’t we ever heard of Starkweather being involved in Valentine’s fall?” Alec asks, running his thumb over Magnus’ knuckles.

“He asked not to be,” Imogen replies with a shrug. “Said he was too ashamed of what he had done before to accept the fame it would bring him.”

“Or he didn’t want to be in the spotlights so he could plan their return in the shadows,” Magnus counters, lips pursed in anger.

Imogen is about to answer, but a loud crash makes them all jump in fright, their eyes darting toward the noise. Behind the window - Magnus hadn’t noticed there was once until now - a tiny owl is shaking its head, clearly stunned by its questionable landing.

Alec opens the window and carefully unfolds the package from the owl’s leg, patting its head in silent gratitude with one hand and opening the package with the other. The owl closes its eyes and Magnus wonders if it is going to start purring, but his attention is quickly pulled back on Alec when he goes still, tension twitching in his shoulders.

“What is it?” Magnus asks, unable to conceal the concern in his voice.

If someone else got hurt, he isn’t sure he can take it. Not right now.

Alec turns his back on him, hiding the content in his hands from his sight and Magnus startles, his mouth dropping open.

“Alexander. What is it?”

“Nothing,” Alec replies, too quickly and high-pitched to be remotely believable.

Magnus rolls his eyes, grabs his wand and murmurs a spell, ignoring Alec’s protest as the item flies out of his hands to land in Magnus’ instead.

It’s a newspaper, more exactly a copy of the Daily Prophet dated of this day, but Magnus couldn’t have doubted it, not when the front page is a huge picture of him with the words “Undesirable N°1” written in big, bold letters as a headline, followed by, “A child murdered at Hogwarts: the witnesses accuse Magnus Bane, Charms Professor and famous spokesperson for Muggle-born rights”.

Magnus had expected that much. He knew it was coming from the moment his eyes had fallen on Adam Whitelaw’s lifeless ones. This is what they want, to destroy his reputation, his dignity, his perfectly-crafted image.

Nevertheless, it hurts.

To see this picture of him, in a fitted suit on the day of Imogen’s funeral, features pulled into the impassive mask he had struggled to display, his eyes darting left and right as if he is looking to pacify his guilty conscience - when in reality, he was looking for Catarina because he had needed her moral support in order not to crumble in front of too many reporters.

They used a picture of him grieving to accuse him of the vilest crime, a crime he hasn’t committed, and somehow, it makes him even angrier. They invaded one of his private moment and turned his pain into something it’s not, as if the rawness of his sorrow can make him dangerous.

Perhaps it does. Perhaps it will.

He is barely aware of Alec coming to stand next to him and his fingers curling around his elbow.

“At least I look good,” he tries, but his voice is weak and his hands are trembling.

Alec presses a kiss against his hairline, and points a finger at a line of the article following the picture of him, where a tinier picture of Alec is featured.

“If you see him or his companion, the Auror Alexander Lightwood, please call the authorities immediately and do not engage,” he reads out loud. “According to the Ministry of Magic, they are both highly trained and extremely powerful, and thus potentially dangerous.” Alec squeezes his elbow. “Hey, they make us sound really badass.”

Magnus snorts, unable to help the smile timidly tugging at his lips.

He is about to answer when a blue cloud burst into the room through the tiny opening of the window, dancing in the air for a second before it stops in front of them and Magnus realizes it’s not a cloud but a majestic wolf, and its eyes are boring right into his own.

“It’s Luke’s Patronus,” Alec says, an uneasy edge to his voice.

It still marvels Magnus that Alec can be so strong-minded and confident when it comes to what he believes in and the people he cares about, but equally wary and scared at the idea of disappointing his boss. Which is kind of ridiculous because Magnus has seen the way Luke looks at Alec, and there is nothing but pride and respect in those gazes.

“Meet me at midnight in the caves on the outskirts of Hogsmeade,” Luke’s voice says, and the wolf shines a little more brightly. “Don’t be late. And for Merlin’s sake, don’t get caught or I’ll kill you.”

The wolf runs out of the window without further ado.

Alec simply shrugs. “I guess I’m fired.”

Magnus frowns, and opens his mouth to reply, but Alec shushes him with a quick peck. “It’s worth it,” he says, tone unyielding. “I’d rather know you’re safe with me and not be an Auror anymore than you be alone to face this while I’m the one ordered to look for you.”

“You’re an idiot, Alexander,” Magnus says fondly, warmth twirling in his stomach. “I… Thank you.”

“I’m highly trained and extremely powerful,” he retorts, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Careful who you call an idiot, Bane.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, and grabs a handful of Alec’s shirt, tugging him against him. “Shut up and kiss me.”

Looking far too smug, Alec obliges, and Magnus feels his heart miss a beat in his chest, feeling lighter than he has since the day before.

They can not destroy him as long as he has this, as long as he can love.

As long as he breathes, he can bend, and bend, and bend again, but he will not break.

And if he does, it will be by Alec’s side, and there, he can never be weak like they want him to be.

Perhaps they are losing, but this war isn’t over.

Not as long as Magnus isn’t done fighting.

.

Getting out of the castle undetected turns out to be not half as hard as Alec expected it to be. The castle is fast asleep, and a Disillusionment Charm does the trick quite nicely.

They pass by Isabelle and Maia on their patrol on their way out, and Alec desperately wants to reach out, especially when he catches the disheartened look in his sister’s eyes, but he doesn’t.

He never thought he would see a day where he can’t go to his sister for comfort. She’s always been his first confident and best support, fighting for him against their parents when he didn’t have the energy or the courage to, pushing him to go for the things that made him happy even when he didn’t know what it entailed himself.

He doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t reach out, and if it breaks his heart a little, Magnus slipping his hand into his own makes up for it in ways Alec hadn’t thought possible until it just happens.

He is falling so hard and so fast it makes him almost dizzy.

The path to Hogsmeade is lined with a thick layer of snow, but they make sure to walk on the side not to leave tracks, although the snow falling is already covering them.

The town is silent, and apart from the light pouring through the windows  of the Three Broomsticks inn, winter has turned it into a ghost town. They don’t stop, or slow down, crossing the town in quiet but rapid steps until they reach the lake and turn left towards the mountain.

They finally come to a stop in front of the cave’s mouth, its wall smoothly curved into the mountain as if it has been carved by magic. It is an abyss of impenetrable darkness, and as they step inside, hands still firmly fastened together, Alec watches his shadow dissolving into the surrounding obscurity.

That is until they both whisper Lumos, and their wands illuminate with a phosphorescent glow that guide their steps. It is dank in there, but the smell is surprisingly complacent, a mixture of the crystal clear water of the mountain and the unaltered atmosphere of the place that makes it oddly pleasant, if one can leave aside the dampness of the place.

There is a hint of light at the bottom of the cave and they head towards it with wary steps, but relax when they recognized Luke’s figure. Alec tries not to tense too visibly when he notices Luke isn’t alone, knowing full well that he would never bring along anyone undeserving of their trust.

Magnus lets go of his hand, features pulled into a cautious grimace, and Alec’s fingers tingle with warmth for a moment, warmth that spreads throughout his whole body when Luke’s companion turns around and Alec recognizes the familiar features, his nerves soothed at once.

Jace strides the distance between them and pulls Alec into a tight hug that he accepts gratefully. It only last a few moments - enough to alleviate the tension from Alec’s shoulders - before Jace draws back, only to tug Magnus into a hug of his own.

The way Magnus’ mouth drops open in shock and his eyes broaden as he stares at Alec, silently asking what he should do, would be comical if the situation was different in any way. He shrugs over Jace’s shoulders and mouths, “just go with it,” to Magnus, who awkwardly pats Jace’s back.

Alec is about to ask confirmation that the man standing there is indeed his brother when Jace grabs a hold of Magnus’ shoulders, holding him at arm’s length and lets his eyes drift over him, scrutinizing every aspect of his appearance.

“I’m glad you’re okay, but seriously, you’re a presumed child murderer on the run,” he says bluntly, lifting an eyebrow. “How do you look so good?”

His tone is almost accusatory, and Alec is about to tell him off for his lack of finesse - which is admittedly unsurprising - when he catches the small smile on Magnus’ lips, and his mouth remains firmly shut.

“Why, thank you, dear,” Magnus says, winking at Jace. “I did what I could with what I had.”

He does look beautiful, Alec ponders to himself, but he thought up until then that it was simply his absence of objectivity that made him so acute to Magnus’ overall appearance. His eyes are lined with a brown eyeshadow that adds infinite depth to his amber gaze and despite the hood they wore the whole way there that fell down when Jace hugged him, his hair is flawless, flopping on his forehead in such a perfect way that Alec swears it can only be deliberate.

They are both wearing capes but somehow, Magnus makes it look like his own comes from the finest clothing shop of Diagon Alley - which Alec should be able to name with how many times Izzy dragged him there, but he just has no interest in remembering it.

“It’s like you’re effortlessly handsome,” Jace complains. “It’s very annoying.”

Magnus smirks, patting Jace’s hand that is still gripping his shoulder. “I’ll teach you, some day.”

“Stop flirting with my brother,” Alec chimes in, rolling his eyes, before pointing an incriminating finger at him. “And you stop flirting with my boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” Jace echoes bemusedly, a jubilant beam spreading on his lips. “Score, bro!” he exclaims, before pushing his shoulder. “When did that happen? You never tell me anything!”

If the Children of Merlin don’t manage to do so themselves, Alec is fairly certain his siblings will kill him someday.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and makes a point of ignoring Jace’s pout, heaving out in irritation, when Luke’s stern voice cuts in.

“You’ll catch up on the gossip later, Jace,” he says, although there is a hint of interest in his tone that has Alec wondering if there isn’t a part of him which would be willing to know the details of his relationship with Magnus as well.

“You two,” he growls as he turns back towards Magnus and Alec, pointing an accusing finger at them. Alec goes utterly still, and gulps. “Do you know how I heard about the two of you disappearing into the night without warning anyone?”

“It was either that or Magnus being locked up in Azkaban,” Alec protests at once, because even though Luke didn’t formulate any vocal accusation, his intonation was clear enough. “They would have let the Dementors suck the fight right out of him!”

“And his sanity,” Luke agrees with a quick, stern nod. “I’m not saying you did wrong, I’m saying I would have liked a heads-up. I had to learn about this whole thing during the press conference I held to announce I was running against Sebastian.”

Magnus grimaces, guilt flashing on his features, and Alec’s gaze darkens with anger.

“This is not on us,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “We did what we had to do to keep Magnus safe, and with all due respect, Sir, I’d do it again without blinking.”

The surprise on Luke’s face matches the one Alec feels at his own audacity. He has always had the upmost respect for Luke, for everything he represents and everything he is, including his never ending faith in the Aurors he takes under his wing. But if Alec has to stand up to him for the first time in his career, let it be to protect Magnus, who is already letting himself be consumed by misplaced guilt.

“We couldn’t risk telling you anything, Luke,” Magnus chimes in, his tone light and gracious enough to ease down the tension in a matter of seconds. “You know that. You running against Sebastian means you’re going to be under the scrutiny of not only the Children of Merlin but also the reporters who are having the time of their lives throwing me to the wolves. They know you and I are close, and if they knew we were still in contact after what happened last night, they would rip you apart.”

Luke heaves out a deep sigh, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know,” he admits, somewhat reluctantly. “I was worried.”

“I’m okay,” Magnus says softly, with a small, broken smile that belies the whole facade he is trying so hard to maintain. “The best thing you can do to help me is catch those bastards and stop them once and for all.”

Luke gives him a stern nod. “We have to be careful,” he says. “It’s quite clear now that they are everywhere. Which means I’m going to have to conduct this investigation alone. I’m pulling Lydia out of Hogwarts and back to the Auror Department with me. I need someone I can be absolutely certain I can trust. Isabelle and Maia will now be charged of Hogwarts’ protection.”

“You should tell them to investigate on Hodge Starkweather,” Alec cuts in.

Luke startles and he blinks at them for a moment, lips parted in shock, before he lifts an eyebrow. “What?”

“He’s a former Circle member,” Alec says, brows furrowed. “As I’m sure you’re aware. I don’t know why you’ve never mentioned him before. He should be one of our main suspects.”

The look on Luke’s face is unsettling, equally shocked and cautious, but also pinched, his jaw flexing in something Alec doesn’t quite know how to decipher.

“What?” he blurts out, frown deepening.

“How do you know about that?” Luke asks in lieu of an answer.

“Imogen,” Magnus replies, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“Imogen?” Jace echoes bewilderedly. “Imogen Herondale? Isn’t she dead?”

“She is. There’s a painting of her where we’re staying,” Magnus eludes, dismissing Jace’s dubious look with a flourish. “She’s as annoying as she was when she was alive.”

“I like her,” Alec argues, shrugging. He ignores Magnus’ offended scoff, because he knows what it hides deep down, and focuses back on Luke. “So, Hodge?”

“He was indeed a Circle member,” Luke sighs. “He turned his back on Valentine at the same time I did. He’s not a suspect.”

“And we’re just supposed to believe that?” Alec asks bemusedly.

There is a pang in his chest, something akin to betrayal and powerlessness and he hates it. This is the closest they have been to have a lead that might not end up in the death of the suspect or their complete shutdown - although he hasn’t seen her ever since he had to arrest her, Alec knows his mother hasn’t said a word that could help them identify the leaders of the Children of Merlin, or even some valuable members of their morbid organization.

He doesn’t know Hodge Starkweather, but if he is a former Circle member, he is willing to bet that he knows more than they do about what has been going on in Hogwarts.

“You’re supposed to trust me,” Luke counters. “We have to trust each other. We have to remain a united front.”

“It’s hard for us to trust you if you withhold information from us,” Magnus says, voice firm and steady. His face is barely lit by the spell cast by their wands, but it reflects enough for Alec to perceive the gravity of his expression. “We know there’s a mole in Hogwarts. Hodge used to follow Valentine. That doesn’t scream innocent to me, so unless you can give us a good reason why, I have trouble believing he isn’t involved with them, especially now that Valentine is back.”

A noise of a branch cracking under someone’s boot make them startle, and they all turn in a same movement towards the entrance of the cave, wands held out defensively. There is nothing but darkness there, and the silence is deafening for the next few seconds.

Alec wonders if the rest of them can hear the pounding of his heart as acutely as he does, fear and adrenaline seeping through his veins and forcing him to step in front of Magnus, shoulders pulled in a tensed line. For once, Magnus doesn’t protest, doesn’t tell him he can very well protect himself. Instead, he hears him curse behind his back, his breath hitching in his throat and Alec swirls around in a flash, brows furrowed in concern, just as Luke steps towards the source of the noise.

“What’s wrong?” he whispers. “Are you okay?”

Magnus is staring at his hands, lips parted and eyes drifting over them in shock. His breathing is shallow, clouds of steam slipping from his mouth. He is trembling, but Alec doubts it has anything to do with the cold.

“Magnus?” he calls again, louder, grabbing his hands into his own. “What’s wrong?”

Magnus blinks out of his torpor, and for a short moment, when he glances up at Alec, there is nothing but sheer and utter terror in his eyes. It is gone as quickly as it appeared.

He swallows, blinks again, and his face is back to an impassible mask, fierceness and strength meddling together in a dauntless expression.

“Nothing,” he says, and his voice quivers, albeit barely. “I’m fine. Everything’s fine.”

“It was just a dog,” Luke says before Alec can question Magnus’ statement. He doesn’t look anywhere close to fine. “We should go. This is too dangerous.”

“Hodge -” Alec starts, but Luke raises a hand to shut him up.

“Let it go, Alec,” he says, in a calm voice that has Alec obeying despite his own will. “I’ll be in touch as soon as we figure out an undetectable way to contact you. A Patronus worked for this time but we might not be so lucky next time. In the meantime, the two of you stay safe. Don’t tell anyone where you’re hidden, not even me.”

“Sir -” he tries to protest, but Magnus lays a hand on his arm and squeeze gently, and the protest dies in his throat.

“Let’s go, Alexander.”

There is something in his eyes, something meant for only Alec to see, something private and pressing and grave enough for Alec to nod, the fight leaving him in a second.

Saying goodbye to Jace is harder than he had thought it would be, perhaps because it feels like it is the hundredth time he had to do so in the spur of a few months.

He pretends he doesn’t hear his brother asking Magnus to take care of him as he hugs him, and he doesn’t tell him he can very much take care of himself because he surmises that Jace has a point: Magnus and him, they do have to take care of each other, because no one knows how long it is going to be just the two of them, hidden in plain sight in a world that wants them both captured, if not dead.

The walk back to the castle is quiet, lulled by the silent breeze and the cracking sound of their boots against the freshly fallen snow, the night wrapping around them like a blanket of ice.

“That look you gave me,” Alec says softly as they get out of Hogsmeade.

Magnus hums, prompting him to go on.

“We’re not going to let it go, right?” Alec asks, but his question doesn’t hold an ounce of doubt.

“Nope,” Magnus says, the word popping out of his mouth with definite intent.

“We’re going to keep an eye on Hodge,” Alec continues.

“Yup.”

Alec smiles despite himself, reaching out to take Magnus’ hand in his own, and Magnus smiles back, hooking their fingers together.

He still looks slightly distressed, but his chin is held up and his lips pursed together, like he is trying too hard to hold his ground. Alec doesn’t ask, and they walk in silence, concealed to the naked eye by a spell, all the way back to the Room of Requirement.

It is then, and only then, that Magnus heaves out a quiet sigh, barely loud enough for Alec to hear, and for a second only, the facade drops again. He shrugs his cape and sweater off, throwing both on an armchair near the fireplace, and toes off his shoes.

When he looks down at his hands again, entranced, seemingly stuck in a world of his own, Alec’s brows furrow in concern.

“Magnus,” he says softly, approaching him with cautious steps. “What’s wrong? What happened in the cave?”

He doesn’t seem to hear him, though, walking to the bed and sitting down with his legs crossed. He inhales deeply, eyes still solely focused on his hands, and Alec follows his gaze only to see his fingers trembling.

The devastation on Magnus’ features is more than Alec can handle, desperation swirling in Magnus’ eyes before he closes them again, brows pulled together, opening them again a moment later with a frustrated huff.

“Magnus,” Alec calls, stepping closer and sitting next to him. “What’s going on?”

Magnus runs a hand on his features, heaving out a deep sigh. “I-I can’t,” he murmurs, so low that Alec has to lean in to hear him.

“You can’t what?” he inquires gently.

“I-I can’t,” Magnus repeats, his voice barely over a decibel. He rubs his fingers together. “I can’t do wandless magic,” he breathes out, small and desolated.

Alec gasps quietly. “What?”

“Earlier, in the cave,” Magnus says, frailty, “I tried but it didn’t work.”

“Do you know why?” Alec asks carefully, gently rubbing his back in comfort.

Magnus sucks in a deep breath. “I… Yeah,” he whispers. “It’s my memory. The one I used to relax and ease my soul. It’s… tarnished.”

Alec isn’t sure what to say, so he shuffles closer and wraps his arm around Magnus’ shoulders properly, tugging him against him.

“Want to tell me about it?”

Magnus grabs his hand, toying with Alec’s fingers, stroking them one by one with his thumb and repeating the same pattern, over and over again until he finds the strength to talk.

“It was my first day as a professor,” he confides faintly. “I was the first Muggle-born teacher in Hogwarts and I fought so hard to get where I was. To make a difference. I remember the faces of the Muggle-born students in the Great Hall. They were… I wouldn’t say happy but relieved, I suppose. Validated. Alive. I knew this was my chance to prove to everyone that we were as worthy as the rest of the wizards in the room who didn’t suffer from the same prejudice I had been through. It was the first time I truly felt hopeful that things would change eventually, and that I could be a tether of that change.”

“You were,” Alec replies, tone devoid of even the slightest doubt. “Magnus,  _ you are _ .”

He shakes his head, and his voice is shaking when he speaks, “I fought so hard,” he murmurs, plagued with sorrow. “And just when I could see progress, it all went crumbling through my fingers. They killed us, Alexander. They pinned us as monsters. They made me a murderer.”

“But you’re not,” he says.

“It’s worse than that,” Magnus whispers, pulling back to look into his eyes. “They took away my happiest memory and tainted it. They took away the thing I loved to do more than anything else in this world and made me a fugitive. They wiped out all prospects of hope from us. They stole my identity and… and I can’t find peace in that memory the way I used to. Because now my experience as a professor will forever be haunted by Adam Whitelaw’s lifeless eyes staring back at me. They won, Alexander. They wanted to break me and they did.”

“Magnus,” Alec says, but he finds himself unable to articulate anything more than that.

He can’t tell Magnus he is wrong, not when the proof of his ordeal lays amidst his own hands. Not when his fingers fail to glimmer with the blue sparks Alec has witnessed and marvelled over many times before.

He has seen the beauty of Magnus’ magic, the way it curls around his fingers and complies to his every desire, swirling in the air as if graced with a life of its own, elegant and sharp all at once.

He has seen the peace on Magnus’ features as he taught him to do the same, the soft, easy smile on his lips, and Alec remembers thinking the patience he was displaying so unabashedly was undeniably the reason why he made such a good teacher. One his students adore and respect.

But even that, the Children of Merlin took away from him.

Their hearts are too filled with hatred for them to perceive the utter and breathtaking beauty of everything that is Magnus. Or perhaps they do, and that is what scares them.

In their twisted minds, they will see beauty in his fall, Alec has no doubt of that. But he’ll be damned if he lets them.

“You’re stronger than them,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to his lips, lingering long enough for Magnus to relax, if scarcely, against him. When he pulls back, there is still a hint of doubt in his gaze. “ _ We’re _ stronger than them,” Alec tells him, because he knows it in the very core of his heart. “Come on. Let’s get some sleep.”

Magnus gives him a small, hesitant smile, but his eyes shine with the genuinity of it, and Alec smiles back, pressing a kiss to his forehead before standing up to walk to the adjacent bathroom.

When he gets out a few minutes later, Magnus is fast asleep, lying sideway on the bed, hair spread out around his head like a halo of glitter.

“I’ve seen in life and in death that he is more than capable of protecting himself,” a voice chimes in, and Alec turns toward Imogen’s portrait. “But these bastards are tearing him apart, dismantling everything that makes him who he is piece by piece.” Alec hadn’t known until then a painting could display such bitterness, but this is the only word he has for the storm raging in Imogen’s gaze. “It’s your job to remind him who he is, young man,” she says, but it sounds more like a warning than a request. “Don’t let them win.”

Alec watches Magnus’ peaceful form, his features relaxed in slumber, and he nods, opening his mouth to answer, but when he turns toward the painting, Imogen is gone, vanished into the landscape.

Shrugging, he walks to the bed with careful steps, and grabs Magnus delicately to make him comfortable, settling him against his pillow.

Magnus mumbles something incoherent under his breath when Alec reaches out to push a few loose strands out of his eyes., but he doesn’t wake up, merely stirring in his sleep.

Alec smiles as he slips into the bed, trailing closer until he can wrap an arm around him. He presses another kiss to his temple, burying his nose in Magnus’ hair.

Luke is fooling himself if he thinks he is just going to stop investigating because they were forced into hiding. Alec is not going to watch the time pass and wait for the Children of Merlin’s next strike.

He recognizes that feeling, invisible and yet invincible. It feels like his whole body is numb, but he has never thought more clearly. It is paradoxical, the way his mind seems in complete control and equally driven by impulses.

The protective instincts are familiar, because that is simply who Alec is in his very core, but the rest…

The rest is new and exhilarating, and so compelling it knocks the air right out of his lungs.

It feels like a ticking bomb in his chest, impossible to defuse simply because Alec refuses to. Nothing has ever felt as right as his pulsations harmonizing with Magnus’ to create one unique cadence that is theirs to own.

Alec thought he would be scared, and perhaps he is, but not in the way he had imagined. The mere idea of losing Magnus petrifies him, but it is easily overpowered by the fierce need to fight for him,  _ with _ him.

Alec had no idea Magnus would so easily conquer his mind and make him surrender willingly to everything that he is.

He had no idea falling in love would be so overwhelmingly easy, but he knows with absolute certainty that it is a feeling he will cherish as long as he can, because it seems to be the most magical journey he will ever take.

One step at a time.

Now is the time to take action, and he knows just where to start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby boy is in love :'').  
> (yes I get emo over my own characters)
> 
>  
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).  
> This was beta'd, as usual, by the magnificent [Roja](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/).
> 
> See you next time!
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu. ❤


	12. Mischief Managed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> Today is the 1-year anniversary of this story so I concocted you a little something to celebrate, and to say thank you for being so supportive throughout the years. You are the best cupcakes anyone could ask for and I love each and every one of you. <3
> 
> This chapter is quite important... for reasons... ;)  
> Happy reading!
> 
> Ps: Always #lecrit to live-tweet!

Alec has always been a morning person.

He loves waking up when the sky is still scattered with smudged stars, sunlight slowly rousing more colors to the painting, chasing the charcoal to replace it with a whole palette of hues. By the time morning has settled, the moon driven away in its eternal course against the sun, he has usually finished his first coffee and is getting ready for a run.

He is a creature of habits, always taking the same path, pacing his steps at the same tempo, running for the same amount of time before he goes back to where he came from. Yet, it is never boring. The great thing about being a morning person is that he gets to witness the beauty of dawn that lingers even after the sun has risen, the dew left upon leaves that makes them shine as brightly as the stars that have surrender, the song of a bird accompanying his steps, a gift bestowed to him each day, always new and refreshing.

It doesn’t matter how late he goes to bed, he always wakes up at the crack of dawn and follows the same rituals, has been doing so for as long as he can remember.

He cannot do any of that now, trapped in the unseeming comfort of the Room of Requirement. He doesn’t feel like he lost anything in the process, however.

When he wakes up now, it is with the sight of Magnus peacefully asleep at his side, his handsome features tugged in a mask of serenity that belongs to him only, replaced by a mixture of sorrow and an unbreakable will to fight as soon as he opens the depth of his brown eyes.

Alec recalls the first time he met Magnus’ eyes with uncanny accuracy. The stadium had been buzzing around them with excitement for the Quidditch game that was playing, but Alec had been mesmerized by the cheerful and teasing spark he had found there when his gaze had met Magnus’. They hadn’t known each other back then.

Alec had still ignored that behind the playful flicker hid a heart of gold that would end up tearing down his walls one at a time and eventually capture his own in a tight hold he wouldn’t want to escape from.

Now that he knows, he longes to see that look again, to bring back to Magnus the peace that has been ripped away from him relentlessly until it stopped being a part of who he is.

Magnus deserves better than to have that haunted flicker in his eyes, the one that says he has been through hell but hasn’t found his way back yet.

So, the peaceful look on Magnus’ features as he sleeps is probably worth forgetting about his morning rituals, for it holds a beauty that takes Alec’s breath away in the way the stars vanishing in a halo of bluish strips of light never could.

“How long have you been watching me sleep?” Magnus asks in a hoarse morning voice that ignites a fire in Alec’s stomach, his nose crunching up rather adorably.

“Not long enough to be creepy,” Alec tries, knowing Magnus can hear the grimace in his voice.

Magnus chuckles, his eyes fluttering open, heavy with the remnants of his slumber.

For a second, Alec sees that spark in his gaze, the one that has disappeared despite Magnus’ unwavering resolve, and the simple idea that he could be the one responsible for it makes his stomach flutter with pride.

“Good morning,” he whispers, leaning in to press a kiss to Magnus’ lips.

Magnus hums against his mouth, reaching out to trail his fingers along Alec’s scruffy jaw as he deepens the kiss, his other hand tugging his shirt in a strong grip. Alec gasps, and for a moment, his senses seem to overflow, committing to every little sensation Magnus manages to kindle in him.

When Magnus pulls back, his lips are shining, curved into a coy smile. “Good morning indeed,” he mutters, dropping another kiss to Alec’s mouth as his hand slips under the tank top he wears to sleep, deft fingers exploring the naked skin of his back.

His hand is cold, and it makes Alec gasp, although he isn’t entirely sure the coolness of his touch is to blame for it.

The hunger that settles low in his belly takes Alec by surprise, more overwhelming than anything of the sort he has felt before. It seeps in his blood and folds around his bones, pools down his hips and makes his heart pound against his ribcage.

This is not how he usually spends his mornings, but he is willing to let go of his rituals if he can have this instead.

He wraps his arms around Magnus’ waist, and rolls on his back, taking Magnus with him. Magnus straddles his hips, his lips travelling along Alec’s jaw line and down his neck, sucking on his pulse point. Alec loses all restraint right there and then, a breathless moan tripping out of his parted lips, tentative hands reaching up to unfasten the buttons on the shirt Magnus fell asleep in.

Magnus’ teeth dig softly where his shoulder meets his neck, his hands tugging at the hem of his tank top and Alec hears the unspoken demand loud and clear, tossing it over his head in a swift movement before latching his lips to Magnus’ collarbone.

There is a voice at the corner of his mind telling him this isn’t the time or the place, that this is incredibly inappropriate. But it sounds too much like his mother, so Alec shoves it away and arches up against Magnus, reaching for more.

He wants to take, everything that Magnus has to offer, everything that he is willing to give him and Magnus is of a giving nature. He gives more than he receives, and Alec will be damned if he becomes one of those people who take his passion, his talent, his kind heart for granted. For as much as he wants to take, he wants to give it all back tenfold.

“Is this a bad time?”

Alec and Magnus part away with a start and share an astonished look, heavy pants collapsing against each other’s mouth.

The surprise quickly vanishes from Magnus’ eyes, however, at once replaced by irritation, and a hint of frustration.

He grits his teeth. “I’m going to throw her in the fire,” he says, and Alec has no doubt he wants to. If he were to listen to the throbbing of his heart and the heat that built between his legs, he probably wouldn’t try to stop him either.

Magnus, still straddling Alec’s hips, turns around to glare at the painting and snaps, louder, “You think?”

Imogen huffs. “My dear, you are unpalatable in the morning.”

“I was actually in a  _ very _ good mood until you decided to interrupt,” Magnus counters.

Alec peeks over his shoulder, catching Imogen’s dismissive shrug. “So dramatic,” she chuckles.

Magnus heaves out a deep sigh. “I asked the Room of Requirement for a solution to my problem and it gave me a chaperon,” he grumbles, slipping off Alec’s lap.

Alec quickly readjusts the sheet over his lower body, cheeks flaming.

“I’m gonna go take a brisk shower,” Magnus says, giving him a small smile that Alec sends back easily.

“Yeah,” he says, clearing his throat. “I’m just gonna… stay here for a minute.”

The smirk that tugs at Magnus’ mouth is positively sinful and he is about to answer, but his eyes dart to Imogen’s painting and he sighs instead, dropping a quick peck on Alec’s lips before he slips out of bed and walks to the adjacent bathroom.

“Sorry about that,” Imogen says as soon as the door is shut.

“Are you?” Alec inquires, lifting a dubious eyebrow. “Because I’m pretty sure you could have gone wandering in your other paintings for a while.”

“There’s nothing remotely as fun as annoying him happening over there,” she says, jerking her chin towards the bathroom.

Alec rolls his eyes, lying down in the bed, staring at the ceiling and forcing himself to think about anything but the way his skin is still prickling with warmth everywhere Magnus has touched.

He wonders if there is a spell that would force Imogen out of this painting for a while, nothing as drastically definitive as what Magnus had in mind, but just as efficient.

He could ban her to another portrait for a while. She did mention there were more of her.

Realization hits Alec with the force of a bludger thrown at full speed.

“Oh, Merlin,” he gasps under his breath, eyes widening. “That’s why you’re here.”

He had known that her presence here wasn’t innocent. It had to serve a purpose. The Room of Requirement works mysterious ways, but Alec knows it only provides what the person using it needs. Magnus had asked for a solution to his problems, and Imogen’s portrait had been there waiting for them. Of course it was intentional.

She can’t be there only to barge in every time things get heated between them and frustrate them to death.

His previous predicament completely forgotten, Alec jumps out of bed and starts pacing back and forth, pointing a finger at her.

“Imogen, where are your other paintings?”

She smirks, a mischievous glint lighting up her eyes. “I thought you’d never ask, dear,” she says slyly. “One of them is in Mrs. Gray’s office. The other is in the Ministry of Magic’s corridor dedicated to former Hogwarts’ Headmasters.”

“That’s why you’re here,” Alec repeats bewilderedly. “That corridor is near the Minister’s office, right? It’s opened on the main square, with all the chimneys.”

Imogen nods, sending him a wink. “I have a pretty great view from there.”

Alec curses under his breath, running a hand in his hand. “Why didn’t we realize this earlier?” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

“Because she was too busy having fun cockblocking us to inform us that she could actually be useful in addition to annoying.”

Alec turns to face Magnus, who is leaning in the threshold of the bathroom, a towel hanging around his neck, arms crossed over his chest and brows furrowed.

“Hey, I’m just a painting,” Imogen says, seemingly unbothered. “I can’t solve this for you. That doesn’t mean I can’t help.”

“So,” Alec chimes in before they can start bickering again, “what is going on in your other paintings right now?”

Imogen seems bored more than anything, and she walks away, vanishing from the scenery, poking her head back in a second later. “People are starting to get to work. A man dropped his scone and almost started crying. He looked very stressed out. Otherwise, nothing interesting.”

“What about Tessa’s office?” Magnus asks.

Imogen disappears again. When she comes back, she looks just as bored. “She’s having a meeting with that blond lady, the Auror. Lydia?”

Alec perks up at the mention of his friend. “What are they talking about?”

“Mrs. Gray is holding a meeting with the Hogwarts staff and a few Aurors to announce that Lydia is been pulled out of the castle to go back to working with Mr. Garroway on the investigation,” Imogen recites dutifully.

“The Hogwarts staff?” Magnus echoes. “All of the staff?”

Imogen shrugs. “Seems like it,” she says. “All but the Aurors that will be on patrol at the time. It’ll be tonight after dinner, when all the students are back in their common room for the curfew.”

Alec nods sternly, and turns to face Magnus, who sports the same expression, full of resolve and determination. “That means Hodge won’t be in his quarters for at least an hour.”

“Which gives us the perfect opportunity to sneak in and see what exactly he has to hide,” Magnus says, confirming they are on the same page on how they are going to spend their evening.

They share a conniving grin. Alec knows it is far from a victory, but at least it is something, a dash of hope to hold onto, and this is what they need right now.

“Is this your idea of a date?” Imogen chimes in teasingly. “When I was young, we were much more conventional about these things.”

“Don’t try to make us believe you were young once,” Magnus retorts, a taunting smirk painting his features. “I don’t buy it.”

Imogen glares at him and Alec snorts, pressing a kiss to Magnus’ forehead before he slips in the bathroom, leaving them to settle this with their usual bickering.

.

They spend their day by the fireplace, reading, chatting softly, discussing their plan for the evening. The Daily Prophet arrives at midday with a different owl, this one not crashing against the window, and Magnus’ picture is still on the first page, big bold menacing letters asking for his arrest. Magnus ignores it, and reads the article on the third page that recounts the start of Luke’s campaign, how he already obtained the public support of Quidditch star Jace Lightwood and - Magnus has to read twice to make sure his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him - his father Robert Lightwood.

“Did you know about this?” Magnus asks absently, his eyes not leaving the newspaper.

Alec glances away from his book to look at him. “Mmh?”

“Robert Lightwood, head of the pureblood family whose heritage goes back to centuries, notorious businessman and former member of Valentine’s Circle, has offered his support to Mr. Garroway, as well as the full founding of his campaign,” he reads out loud. “‘Luke is a good man,’ Mr. Lightwood told us when he asked him the reason behind his engagement. ‘A real hero. I truly believe he is the best-suited person to take over Mrs. Pond. People change, and our society can change too. I don’t see anyone more befitting for the task than Luke Garroway.’”

When Magnus looks up from the article, Alec looks positively stunned - and just as satisfied.

Which is why he allows himself to quip playfully, “Hey, turns out just one of your parents is a complete asshole.”

Alec shakes his head. “I think he mostly feels guilty,” he admits. “He swore to me that he didn’t know about Mom’s involvement with the Children of Merlin. He wasn’t surprised, so I think he had his suspicions but he just didn’t want to believe it.”

“That’s understandable,” Magnus says with a nod, propping his feet on Alec’s lap to make himself more comfortable. “We always want to see the best in the people we love.”

Alec snorts. “I don’t think my parents have loved each other for a very long time,” he says, and something in his intonation tells Magnus this is a reality he has long made his peace with. “I just think my father has been too used to being passive and close his eyes on the rights or wrongs.”

“That’s quite symptomatic of the society we live in,” Magnus points out, unsure if it is meant to bring Alec comfort or to validate his fatalism. “It’s always easier to ignore a problem than to actually work on making it disappear.”

Alec nods in agreement. “Yeah,” he says softly. “I used to think my father was the best man in the world. And then I grew up and I realized that there was nothing special about him… He was just like the majority of people.”

“Well, there is definitely something special about you,” Magnus murmurs, holding his hand out with a smile - Alec takes it without an ounce of hesitation, squeezing lightly. “So congrats on being a better man than your father.”

Alec smiles back, gratitude easily readable in his hazel eyes, but doesn’t reply, and they fall back into a comfortable silence, hands still tightly fastened together.

Time passes slowly, and Magnus knows it won’t be long before they can’t bear to stay locked there. It is only a matter of time before the walls become suffocating, and they begin to feel out of place in a room meant to make them feel safe. Still, if he has to remain hidden for who knows how much longer, Magnus is glad it is with Alec rather than anyone else - Raphael and he would have probably already killed each other by now.

It is already pitch dark outside when Imogen gives them the green light.

“The meeting is about to start,” she tells them, and promptly disappears again.

They waste no time, casting a Disillusionment Charm over themselves and sneaking out of the Room of Requirement.

The corridors are, as expected, empty. There is a ceremonial silence hanging in the air, wrapping around the whole castle, like the walls themselves are mourning the loss of one of their child.

For as far as Magnus can remember, he always liked going down to the Slytherin Dungeon. It took him a while to realize what was so appealing to him about it. It was the windows. 

When he still was a teacher - he tries not to cringe at the fact that this is now something he will have to say in the past tense for an undetermined period - he always took the opportunity to do his patrols in this area of the castle whenever it was presented. 

The windows of the dungeon look out into the depths of the Hogwarts lake, and Magnus likes water with as much verve as he hates heights. 

He had been tempted to reach out and try to touch it on more than one occasion, but the sight of the giant squid swooshing by was usually enough for him to pull back. Once or twice, he had been lucky enough to see other, much more interesting creatures whirling in the lake with ethereal grace.

Being in the Slytherin Dungeon is very much like Magnus imagines it would be in an underwater shipwreck, a mysterious aura that remains intangible even after all those years.

They don’t stop to watch through the windows then, and it somehow tears at Magnus’ heartstrings. They are running, and it is all they seem to do lately. Run, and hide.

This place has been his home for as long as he can remember, and he is a fugitive in those same walls which protected him and allowed him to meet the most important people in his life.

Hodge’s quarters are at the very end of the corridor, a few steps away from the common room. Alec whispers an Alohomora but the door - unsurprisingly - doesn’t budge, and he steps aside at once, motioning for Magnus to work his magic.

With a smirk, Magnus tightens his grip on his wand and starts humming, murmuring an incantation under his breath. It takes him two minutes - much longer than he expected - to open the door, and when the rewarding click announces that he has succeeded, he frowns.

“Someone who needs that much protection to prevent people from entering definitely has something to hide,” he says.

Alec nods, pushing the door open.

Hodge’s room is a wide, spheric room with rough stone walls where the blason of Slytherin hands proudly on one side, and a couple of greenish lamps on the other one. A fire is crackling under an imposing fireplace, meticulously carved with snakes, swords and an elaborated ground ivy tangling through the whole piece.

In front of the fire sits a dark grey couch and two matching armchairs. Next to it, by the windows that gives sight on another part of the lake, Hodge’s desk is only lit by an eternal candle, a stack of paper neatly folded in the middle.

“You take the desk, I’ll search the bedroom,” Alec says, although his tone implies he is waiting for a confirmation.

Magnus nods in agreement, and immediately strides toward the desk. The drawers are all magically locked, and Magnus rolls his eyes before murmuring a spell, waving his wand towards them. They burst open at once and Magnus dives in to rummage through.

Hodge is a meticulous man. Everything is tidy, clearly in its rightful place, and it makes Magnus’ task both easier and more complicated. It is quite obvious that if he has something to hide, he won’t keep it in a place like his desk, where anyone with ill intentions would think of searching.

Pursing his lips, Magnus steps away from the desk and hooks his hands on his hips, his eyes darting over the room, looking for a clue, anything that would help.

It strikes him then that Hodge’s quarters are quite impersonal. There is no photograph on the walls, no book lying around, nothing that could give away anything on the person living there. This is the place of someone who doesn’t have much to lose.

“Magnus!” Alec calls from the bedroom. “I think I found something!”

Pushing the drawers shut, Magnus makes his way towards his voice. Hodge’s bedroom is just as impersonal as the rest of his quarters, nothing there but a bed, a wide bookshelf against a wall, and a large closet.

Alec is standing by the window and when he pushes aside to look at Magnus, he catches sight of the plants resting on the ledge and the air is knocked out of his lungs.

“Is that -”

Alec cuts him with a nod. “I think so,” he says.

Magnus steps closer, gently grabbing one of the leaves. “Fluxweed and knotgrass,” he murmurs under his breath.

“I know it isn’t an undisputable proof, but I don’t think it’s a coincidence that these are the plants used to make a Polyjuice potion,” Alec remarks.

“I don’t believe in coincidences,” Magnus agrees. “Did you find anything else? The desk didn’t teach me anything other than the fact that Hodge is a neat freak.”

Alec shakes his head, looking as defeated as Magnus feels, and Magnus sighs, his eyes darting over the room, and he promptly freezes.

“Which is why this is odd,” he muses out loud, mostly to himself.

Alec frowns, following his line of sight. There on the bookshelf, one of the books is sticking out slightly. It is barely noticeable, but it stands out next to the rest that sits flush against the bookshelf. Magnus walks closer with wary steps, a rush of adrenaline running through his veins, as if it is going to blow up to their faces the moment he touches it.

Nonetheless, he reaches out and tries to push the book to line up with the others but it refuses to, poking against something.

“Quidditch Through the Ages,” Alec reads out loud, throwing him a side look.

Magnus holds back an amused smirk and plucks the book out, grabbing his wand.

“Revelio,” he murmurs.

They watch, bewildered, as slowly, bit by bit, the Marauder’s Map materializes in front of them, carefully folded between the pages of the book but sticking out just gingerly enough for them to have found it.

It isn’t much, but it feels like a victory somehow, and it makes Magnus heave out a deep, relieved breath. It is enough to prove their assumptions about Hodge were correct.

He feels lighter, suddenly, and when he glances up at Alec, there is a playful spark dancing in his eyes.

“Told you Quidditch was evil,” he quips, a smug smirk tugging at his lips.

Alec rolls his eyes, but he is smiling too, and Magnus feels all the more gleeful about their find knowing Alec shares the feeling.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” he says in lieu of an answer, tapping his wand against the parchment.

“Hello, old friend,” Magnus murmurs almost reverently, watching Hogwarts unfold before his eyes.

The surge of fond nostalgia that streams through him is short-lived.

Alec gasps by his side. “Shit,” he whispers, a hint of panic layering his tone. “Hodge is on his way.”

And indeed, the point carrying his name is getting closer to the dungeon, close enough that they won’t be able to avoid him if they get out now.

“Fuck,” Magnus hisses, eyes darting left and right for a place to hide.

“Closet,” Alec says, grabbing the book out of his hands to shove it back on the shelf, then his arm to drag him in there.

They barely have the time to slither in before they hear the front door opening and Hodge marching in.

They are both holding their breaths, making themselves as quiet as humanly possible. Magnus shuffles closer to Alec, his heart slamming against his ribcage and Alec shifts slightly so Magnus fits perfectly against him, filling as little space as they can.

They hear Hodge moving around in the living room before he walks in the bedroom. There is a tiny gap where the closet doors don’t shut properly, but it is enough for Magnus to see Hodge shrug his robe off.

Magnus’ breath catches in his throat, but Hodge doesn’t have the time to walk to the closet to put it away. The front door opens again and he startles, his brows furrowing.

“Hodge?” a voice calls out.

“In here,” he groans, looking utterly annoyed by his impromptu visitor. His eyes shift around the room, stopping on the bookshelf as if looking for a magical way to get rid of her, and Magnus cringes, silently hoping that Alec put the book back in its rightful place.

He doesn’t have the opportunity to ponder on it any longer. Alec tenses against him at the sight of the person barging in. Whoever they were expecting, neither he nor Magnus had imagined Maureen.

There is something peculiar about the way she walks, something confident and sanguine that feels familiar and yet completely uncharacteristic of her.

“We need to talk,” she announces without preamble.

Hodge heaves out a deep breath. “Do we?” he growls. “I’m really not in the mood.”

Maureen crosses her arms over her chest, curving an eyebrow. “Are you still upset about the Whitelaw kid?” she huffs out, sounding as bored as she looks.

Magnus bites on his bottom lip to refrain from bursting out of there and curse them both to next week. Alec must sense his hesitation because he hooks an arm around his waist, rubbing his thumb against Magnus’ hipbone soothingly.

It doesn’t make sense. Maureen is a half-blood and Magnus has known her for years. She has been Hogwarts’ matron for almost as long as he has been the Charms professor, and she never showcased the slightest hint of bigotry. They’ve never been overly close, but he never suspected this. Especially because of the quite obvious crush she has been sporting for Simon for a long while - and Simon is a Muggle-born. Why would she want the eradication of their kind?

“Adam was a child,” Hodge grits out. “I never agreed to this.”

“Oh, get over it,” Maureen exclaims, waving her hand dismissively. “I don’t see why you feel guilty at all, I’m the one who killed him, and I’m fine. He served his purpose. Branwell is out of the way now. Magnus and his pet Auror are gone too. It’s only a matter of time before they are found and imprisoned.”

Magnus’ eyes burn with tears he hastily pushes back, clenching his jaw. Holding back the need to gasp to fill his lungs with air that abandoned him, he leans back against Alec’s chest, reaching down to hook their hands together over his hipbone. Somehow, he finds he needs the anchor it provides, to keep himself for doing something that would endanger them both.

“I wouldn’t underestimate them,” Hodge comments airily, like he isn’t really bothered by the outcome. “They’re clever. Wherever they’re hiding, I don’t think we’ll find them unless they want to be found.”

“Then we’ll lure them out,” Maureen says, shrugging. “I know Magnus. Threaten his loved ones and he’ll come running to save them. I think his godson would make perfect bait material.”

Magnus clenches his teeth so hard he wonders how they didn’t hear them grind.

He needs to find a way to warn Raphael, so he can warn Ragnor and Catarina. He knows they still live in the safe house, but they can’t trust anyone. The living proof is standing in front of him, behind the ajar doors of the closet.

“We’ll see if it comes to that,” Hodge growls. He pauses and for a moment, they stand there in silence, staring at each other like lions in a cage, ready to jump at each other’s throat at the slightest hint at a threat. “What do you really want?” he sighs eventually.

“I talked to Phoenix,” Maureen says, tilting her chin up. “She said Valentine is getting out of control.”

Hodge snorts, a smirk pulling at his mouth. “What did they expect?” he says, almost tauntingly. “For him to follow their every order just because they pulled him out of Azkaban? I told them to free him, but I also specified he wouldn’t be easy to deal with.”

“She thinks he might listen to you if you try to reason with him.”

Hodge’s features pull into a grimace, but he replaces it with an impassible mask before it can linger long enough for Maureen to notice. “Why would she think that?” he asks.

“Because you two were best buddies or whatever,” Maureen scoffs, her fingers dancing in the air in a dismissive flourish. The elegance in her movements is familiar, but it is one Magnus never associated with Maureen before. It runs earlier in his memory, at a time he had rather forgotten. “I’m not really interested in the reason why, I’m just passing the message. They have a plan, and Valentine is starting to compromise it.”

“They wanted someone to blame for the massacres,” Hodge retorts, seemingly unaffected. “It’s the prize to pay for it.”

“Look, Hodge,” Maureen cuts in, clearly annoyed now. “It’s damageable for the cause. Valentine might divide the troops and we need to stay united now more than ever.”

There is something surreal about the way her features are so different than usual. Her face is the same - same curly hair, same deep brown eyes, same full lips - but she looks nothing like herself. She looks like someone who dropped the mask to reveal their true colors.

“You don’t even believe in the cause,” Hodge deadpans. “You just want revenge over Bane.”

She seems to hesitate for a second, but then Maureen nods, pulling a face that clearly tells that she can’t argue with that logic.

She looks too familiar, stirring up memories that he had pushed aside for the sake of his own sanity. It screams of pain, sorrow and countless betrayals.

“I was willing to let it go. I had forgiven him for the way he treated me,” she all but purrs, and Magnus knows. She has been right there all this time, in front of him, pretending to care for him while she was plotting his demise. There is only one person he can think of that would be vile enough to hide behind Maureen’s features. “But then I met Hermes, and he reminded me that the worst thing in all this was not that I had dated that filthy Mudblood.”

She spits out the word with complete and absolute hatred, but somehow it doesn’t affect him like it usually does. Perhaps because nothing can affect him anymore coming out of her mouth. Perhaps because Alec tightens his hold around his waist protectively, and it makes him feel strong enough to disregard the venom spilling out of her mouth.

“It was that I had let him treat me like he did and get away with it,” she finishes in a scornful hiss. “I don’t care if you wipe the Mudbloods off the surface of the Earth. I’ve had my fun gaining Magnus’ trust so I could have the front seat to watch his entire world crumble piece by piece.”

“Fun?” Hodge parrots, casting an astonished glance her way.

“Why do you think I’m doing this?” she asks, a vicious smirk painting her features into a mask of malignity.

“Power?” Hodge offers, utterly unimpressed.

She huffs out an amused laugh. “That, too,” she admits. “But it’s mostly for the fun of it. You lots are all so serious about it, about purifying our society and all that, but I’m just here because it is convenient to me. I’m not a big fan of Mudbloods, but I really don’t care about them as long as they don’t get in my way.”

Hodge doesn’t reply, his lips pushed together, and he moves, disappearing from Magnus’ line of sight.

It is as if everything comes back to crush his lungs at once. Magnus has been afraid before, many times. He was scared when the explosion blasted during the Quidditch game. He was scared when he ran through Hogwarts’ corridor, following the sound of Grace Whitelaw’s scream, knowing that he was heading towards something horrible. He was scared when Ragnor got injured during a fight with a terrorist. He was scared for his first day as a teacher, and the first time he stepped foot in Hogwarts as an eleven-year-old with big dreams and bigger obstacles to face. But he has never had trouble conquer his fears before.

He’s always fought. He’s always pushed them aside and endured every hardship, coming out of the battle stronger than before.

Now is different.

Through the swirl of sickening fear burns the sting of betrayal. He knows better than to expect the best of Camille, but he remembers her as someone with honor if nothing else, someone who knew the difference between right and wrong and liked to bend the line, but rarely ever crossed it to the point of immorality.

A child is dead. Camille killed him. And she willingly pinned it on Magnus, because of what? Petty revenge? Because she could? Because she was bored?

That fear, he cannot control, because it seeps through his veins and settles on his heart, leisurely clenching around it.

He is afraid of Camille. Camille is harmless, and he is ten times more powerful than she will ever be. But she is symptomatic of the plague their society is affected with.

Camille is bored. Robert is indifferent. Another one will be unconcerned. And all of them are, consciously or not, the actors of their fall.

Camille is many things - manipulative, abusive, selfish - but Magnus never deemed her evil before. They dated for over two years and it may have ended in chaos, but Magnus knows at some point, they were happy. Despite his blood, despite Camille’s. She was always too blasé to care.

But there she is now, teaming up with a group of murderous terrorists, plotting against him because… because she has nothing better to do. Because fighting for what is right is always more tiring than spreading hate and settling in this notion of convenience.

It makes him angry, but mostly, it makes him scared.

How are they supposed to win, to find the strength to fight, if people are joining the Children of Merlin out of boredom, out of passiveness, out of convenience?

Magnus isn’t ashamed of who he is. The blood running through his veins is his identity, because they made it that way, but now more than ever, he embraces it. He is a Muggle-born, and he also is a better wizard than the vast majority of them, because he trained harder, because he read everything he could, because he pushed his limits further. Because whether he liked it or not, he had more to prove himself to them. So he did.

And somehow it still isn’t enough.

But he realizes, just then, that it will never be enough. Not for everyone. Not for people like Camille, who do wrong just for the sake of it.

He doesn’t know if that makes her evil, but he knows with absolute certainty that it makes her a despicable person and as much as Magnus’ blood is tainted in their eyes, at least he is not that, and he will never be.

He is a better wizard, and he will be damned if he isn’t a better man, too.

Against his back, he can feel Alec’s chest rise up and down, his ushered breath crashing against his ear, warm and familiar. His thumb is still stroking his hipbone gently, saying words his mouth cannot.

Magnus is scared, but that never stopped him before, and it won’t now.

They know where to start now. He doesn’t know whether the mole has been Camille, Hodge or the both of them all along, but as least, this is undeniable progress. It opens the path for the meticulous dismantlement of the Children of Merlin, and Magnus is willing to spend all his energy on doing just that.

“Anyway,” Camille says with a flourish that is all hers. She might be using Maureen’s face, but Magnus can only see her now. The glimmer in her eyes is her own, deviant and canny, and the grace in her movements is miles away from Maureen’s sweet clumsiness. “I’ll be on my way. Deal with Valentine before he ruins everything.”

“All in due time,” Hodge replies, voice tight with something Magnus can’t decipher now that he can’t see his face. “I have something more important to deal with first.”

Camille shrugs, rolling her eyes. “Suit yourself,” she scoffs, and turns around, her heels clattering on the stone as she walks away.

The sound of the front door shutting after her barely has the time to resonate all the way to their ears. There is a flashing of movement coming from outside the closet, and the doors burst open with a clatter.

“Expelliarmus,” Hodge blurts out, and there is nothing Magnus and Alec can do to prevent their wands from flying out of their hands and into Hodge’s open palm.

His blue eyes are utterly calm as it settles on the two of them huddled together in the tiny space the closet offer them.

Magnus’ breath catches in his throat as he stares at Hodge’s wand aiming at their faces.

“I wish you hadn’t done that, boys,” he sighs. “I really do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what did you think???  
> If you've got theories, I'm always happy to hear them ;).
> 
> You can yell at me on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).
> 
> This was beta'd by the magical [Roja](http://warlocksrune.tumblr.com/). Thank you babe.
> 
> Thank you again for all the unwavering support. ❤
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu.


	13. what's comin' will come, and we'll meet it when it does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello cupcakes,
> 
> So.... It's been 84 years. Hope y'all are still alive and well.  
> I apologize for the delay, life and inspiration can be real pains in my ass when they decide to be.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. More answers, more question, and... one honest statement? ;)
> 
> Happy reading!
> 
> And #lecrit to live-tweet as always ;)

For a while, there is no sound in the room. They stand in silence, gauging Hodge as he faces them, their wands tightly gripped in his hand, his blue eyes darting over them carefully, like he expects them to jump him at any moment.

Magnus wonders how that would go. Alec moved to stand in front of him as they got out of the closet as if driven by an invisible force, but this is all the movement there has been for what seems like an eternity.

It must be midnight by then, the sky a deep charcoal through the unique window of the room, reverberating in the depth of the lake.

There is only silence but no sense of peace for Magnus to anchor himself to.

His heart is hammering in his chest, his ears ringing with the fear of the situation.

From all his painful background and the years of being picked at for the blood running in his veins, Magnus has learned one essential thing about himself—he can’t bear to be defenseless.

It makes his whole body shudder with fear. Dread swoops down on him, wrapping around him like an invisible veil that does nothing to protect him.

It was why, all these years ago, he spent restless hours learning how to use wandless magic. So that he would never be powerless in a situation exactly like this one.

But his magic has deserted him, and here he stands, facing one of _them_ , unable to protect himself - or worse, to protect Alec - now that his wand has been stolen from him and his wandless magic ripped away. His happiest memories tainted by dreadful ones of death and sorrow, of accusations thrown at his face that he wishes he could rid himself off but can’t as long as these people are out there, waiting for the opportunity to celebrate their victory on his still warm corpse.

Magnus braces himself with a deep breath, urging his mind to stop swirling with dread, to gather back what calm he can summon.

If he is going to die a gruesome death, he will die facing them with his chin held high, so they know, once and for all, that he doesn’t cower back in front of bigotry and terror.

He takes a step forward. Alec moves to stop him, but Magnus sends him a pointed look, one that tells him everything he just deliberated on with himself. He doesn’t know exactly what Alec manages to gather from that look, if he grasps the entirety of Magnus’ internal turmoil or just enough to understand this is something he needs to do, but his outstretched hand drops at his side, and he releases a shaky breath, layered with the same fear Magnus can feel lurching in his stomach, before he gives Magnus a quick but understanding nod.

“You’re one of them,” Magnus states, his jaw flexing with anger, attention back on Hodge.

It can’t truly be betrayal, not the way the realization that Maureen has actually been Camille all along stung at his heart. Hodge and he have never been friends. They have been colleagues for years, at most. Not even friendly ones.

Mostly, they politely ignored each other ever since Magnus came to teach at Hogwarts and Hodge was already the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor.

“It’s not what you think,” Hodge replies immediately, his tone too rushed to appear as calm as he certainly wanted it to. “Stay back and let me explain.”

Magnus shakes his head, heaving.

“I was eleven when I realized what being a Muggle-born meant,” he says, slowly, weighing every word on his tongue. “There was that kid in my year. He was in Ravenclaw like me. He wasn’t a bully. He wasn’t evil. But he walked by me in the Library while I was studying for a test and laughed at me with his friends about how it was unfortunate that I had to work twice as hard as they did. I didn’t get it at first, so I confronted him and asked him about it. He looked guilty that I had caught him, and he gave me an explanation about how it was only a joke between friends and he hadn’t meant any harm. So I forgot about it. But the damage it caused, I never forgot.”

“When I was thirteen,” he continues, and Hodge doesn’t try to cut in, blinking plainly at him like he isn’t sure what to do, “I was top of my promotion. First in all my classes. But one day, I got a P in Potions. I went to ask the professor about it - it was Emil Pangborn back then - and he said the explanation was simple. He said there was no way for me to handle such a difficult potion so perfectly with my _background_. According to him, the only plausible explanation was that I had cheated. It was his word against mine, and I lost. But I let it go. After all, I was really better than most students my age, so the accusation seemed almost fair. That’s what I had been told when I went to complain, anyway.”

Magnus takes another step forward, his gaze hardening on Hodge, who tries to open his mouth to reply, but shuts it immediately, undoubtedly because he caught the ruthless flicker in Magnus’ eyes.

“I was fifteen when I started dating Imasu,” Magnus hisses under his breath. “He was gorgeous, kind, funny. He was also a Pureblood. And he broke up with me after a year. His explanation? His parents weren’t against us, but that didn’t mean they were happy about their son dating _someone_ _like me_. _They’re not like that, you know,_ ” he adds in a poor imitation of Imasu, and all the other people he’s heard using the same excuse, the words burning on their way out, almost smothering him. “ _They don’t have anything against you. They know you, and you’re a good person. You’re not like the rest of them._ He didn’t want to have to pick between his family and me, but he picked, and I was left to wonder if it was possible for anyone to ever love me with the blood I had running in my veins.”

“When I graduated at seventeen, I was told I could never become a Charms master and there was no explanation given to me. There was only that look in the eyes of yet another person in a position of power telling me what I could or could not do with no other knowledge of myself than the blood running in my veins.” He pauses, inhales deeply, urges the rage swirling in his body to settle down just so he can finish. “I have been called a Mudblood all my life, before I even knew what the word meant. I have been despised for it, looked down on and mocked. Always with a perfectly logical excuse in the mouth of the person uttering it.”

Magnus takes another step forward, although he keeps a reasonable distance between them, his eyes boring straight into Hodge’s unapologetically.

“If you’re going to kill me, kill me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “If you’re going to torture me, torture me. But keep your explanations to yourself. Don’t expect me to listen to them and give you the absolution you’re seeking. I am done with people like you justifying their despicable actions and expecting me to just nod my head and cower into obedience.”

Magnus doesn’t advert his eyes away, refuses to.

If he is going to die, then he will stare right into his killer’s eyes and make sure his resolve in the face of adversity haunts them until they release their last breath.

It doesn’t mean he isn’t scared. Dread creeps over him like an icy chill, numbing his bones. But not his brain, never his brain, and that is why he can put fear aside for long enough to gather the courage to keep his chin up.

The silence stretches around them, and Magnus doesn’t hide a proud smirk at the mixture of fear and respect that colors Hodge’s pale features.

It is a look he has seen often, one he has cultivated too, but he never is tired of it when it appears in the eyes of people like Hodge.

“I’m not one of them,” Hodge says eventually, hesitantly.

Alec scoffs, his posture tensed as if he is ready to jump in to protect Magnus if need be, lack of a wand be damned.

“Could’ve fooled us when you were talking about your _cause_ just a few minutes ago,” he snaps, spitting the word out like an insult, his jaw pulled in a tight, angry line.

“This isn’t what you think it is,” Hodge groans. “I’m not one of them.”

“Care to explain how you got this then?” Alec asks, pointing at the Marauder’s map still firmly tucked in Magnus’ hand. “My mother was the one who stole it. Did it magically appear in your quarters?”

“Maryse gave it to me,” Hodge says, carefully.

Alec scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest, lifting a dubious eyebrow.

“And you just happen to have all the ingredients to make a Polyjuice potion but I guess it’s just a coincidence, right?” Magnus hisses, eyes narrowing on Hodge.

Despite it all, Magnus can find it in himself to appreciate the irony of the situation. Hodge is shifting awkwardly on his feet, his eyes somewhat glassy, and he looks threatened, even though Alec and Magnus are both unarmed and defenseless while Hodge has three wands at his disposal.

“I am not one of them,” Hodge repeats each word with intent, pursing his lips in irritation. “Not the way you think I am. How about you calm down and sit down so I can explain?” He catches the dark look on Magnus’ features and heaves out a deep breath. “No excuses,” he pledges. “A real explanation.”

When neither Magnus nor Alec show any sign of moving, Hodge’s gaze hardens on them.

His jaw flexes, the wand in his hand pointing at their faces threateningly. “Don’t make me force you,” he sighs. “I can and I will if I have to.”

Magnus is about to answer when he feels a soft touch against the skin of his wrist. Alec doesn’t say a word, but he curls his fingers around Magnus’ arm, tugging gently.

There is something somber on his features, the protectiveness that Magnus has learned to associate with him combined with something else, a dormant wrath, a quiet storm that is only waiting to unleash and decimate everything in its wake.

Magnus is struck with the thought that they could be quite devastating, the two of them, if they weren’t there to tame the other’s anger when it needs to be.

It is something else, however, that persuades Magnus to let himself be guided forward and to the couch sitting in front of the fireplace.

Alec has that look in his eyes, the one that tells him that if he knows only one thing, it is that they won’t be dying today and that if they do, they will not go down without a fight.

Magnus sits next to Alec, the two of them utterly still, although their eyes never leave Hodge, who starts pacing in front of them, never leaving them out of his sight long enough for them to even think of moving.

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” Hodge says again. “I’m not supposed to… Merlin, if they learn about it—”

“Starkweather,” Alec snaps, cutting him off, tone both demanding and uncompromising.

Hodge freezes in his steps and sucks in a deep breath.

“I am one of them and I’m not,” he eludes, as if it makes complete sense.

“Look, I don’t have my wand but I can still punch you,” Alec grits out through clenched teeth, sending him a murderous glare.

Magnus smirks, but keeps his mouth shut. If the time comes, he will be the first one to throw a punch, if only because he is certain it would be incredibly cathartic, and it seems like as good of a last deed as any - kissing Alec one last time also appears as a satisfying option, but he supposes he will figure it out when it comes to this.

Hodge shakes his head. “I can’t tell you,” he mumbles under his breath, mostly to himself.

“How did you know how the Marauders’ map works?” Magnus asks, because at this rate, they will never get anything useful out of Hodge if he doesn’t take the matter in his own hands.

He is agitated, to say the least, as if he expects someone to burst in and arrest him as soon as he opens his mouth.

Magnus has seen what the Children of Merlin do to their own. They killed an eleven-year-old because it was a means to an end. He has no doubt they would kill Hodge on sight if he tries to tell them anything.

He doesn’t particularly care, however.

Hodge seems to relax a little at that. His eyes settle on Magnus, devoid of fear this time.

“Because I designed it,” he says simply. “ _We_ designed it.”

“Who’s we?” Alec asks.

Hodge sets his gaze on him, and it is almost apologetic. “Your parents -” he starts, and Magnus hears the way Alec’s breath hitches in his throat but he refrains from reaching out to touch him - they are already exposed enough as it is - “Luke, Jocelyn, Valentine and I.”

Magnus leans in, resting his elbows on his knees and glances up at Hodge, rubbing his fingers against his palm. He doesn’t say a word, however, just stares at him pointedly until Hodge purses his lips together, eyes darting away, and drops in the armchair in front of them.

“I was in Valentine’s Circle.”

“We already know that,” Alec retorts.

Hodge nods, picking at a loose thread on the armrest. “We created it because we thought it would be fun,” he says absently, gesturing vaguely to the map in Magnus’ hand. “Valentine had convinced us it would allow us to slip away at night without getting caught.” His gaze is lost in space and time, back when neither Magnus nor Alec had been there to wander in the castle. “We didn’t realize then that he intended to use it for less… commendable purposes. To gather his troops, let his words be heard and his hatred fill younger people’s heads. It took us some time to figure out how far his hatred went.”

“I am not going to lie and say it changed anything when we did, however,” Hodge continues, rubbing nervously at his wrist. “Luke put a stop to it immediately but the rest of us… we followed him blindly. We let it go too far.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Alec cuts in coldly. “You let him murder innocent people.”

Guilt is written plainly on Hodge’s features. “I know.” He pauses, braces himself with a deep breath. “Your mother and I were the worst,” he says, darting a glance at Alec. “We just said ‘yes’ to everything he said. Valentine was charismatic. It was like he had an invisible aura. The effects were completely visible, though. More and more people started following him, listening to him and when we graduated, it took him a couple of weeks to start the Wizarding Front and two more months to have his voice be heard.”

“And how long before he started killing us?” Magnus asks calmly, albeit ruthlessly, the words burning his tongue.

“Something happened,” Hodge sighs, finally dropping in the armchair in front of them. “His father died in an accident that was apparently caused by a Muggle-born and Valentine lost it completely. His hatred went from violent speeches to violent actions, and he used his late father as an incentive to justify his deeds and share with his followers his rage, so that they wouldn’t leave. That’s when the killings started. That’s also when Luke came to me and asked me to help him stop Valentine. He was just out of the Auror program, and he had made it his personal mission to arrest him. I think he felt guilty somehow, for not standing up to him earlier when we were in Hogwarts. For not trying to stop him before it was too late.”

“At least he tried,” Alec cuts in, the look on his face one of absolute disdain.

Hodge nods shortly. “I said yes but I never truly committed to it,” he continues, and if Magnus didn’t know better, he would think there is guilt edging on his features, feasting on him as he grits his teeth. “I was too afraid to do anything, and I could ignore the killings for as long as I didn’t witness them directly. I knew about them, but I didn’t take part in it, so I could pretend they didn’t happen. I could fool myself. My role was to find new recruits and train them, as it has always been. I never went on the field. Until-”

He chokes on the word, shaking his head as if trying to push away a nightmare, the reminiscence of the wrong he has done, and Magnus can’t feel sorry for the man. He made the choices he did, and even though he let himself be influenced by a charismatic, powerful man, he still had his free will. He chose, knowing what was happening around him, to close his eyes on the horrors that were committed around him.

“He was just a boy,” Hodge breathes out, pushing his palms against his eyes.

Magnus shares a quick look with Alec, both of them tensing at the opportunity. Their wands are right there, and all they’d have to do is be quick enough to grab them and turn the odds in their favor. Alec barely has the time to move, however, and Hodge is looking up again, and his hand falls back at his side with a frustrated sigh.

“One of our new recruits had some insubordination problems. That was what Valentine called it anyway,” he says, his voice barely over a murmur. “So he asked me to come on their next mission. There was this boy. And the new guy refused to kill him. So Valentine did. He just… did it—like that. Without a second thought. His body hit the floor before I could even make a move. Valentine… He never even hesitated. The boy couldn’t have been older than six or seven, and Valentine just killed him on sight, because his mother was a Muggle-born.” He drops his head, skimming a finger along Magnus’ wand absently. “I couldn’t keep my eyes closed after that. I contacted Luke, offered my help to take down Valentine, and so we did.”

Magnus doesn’t reply. He remembers reading about this when he had been a student at Hogwarts and he had wanted to know more about Valentine’s reign of terror. He remembers the story about the boy perfectly, how he had been murdered after his parents were already dead, because his father had been an Auror, married to a Muggle-born. It hadn’t been long after that for Valentine to be arrested. It was almost as if the national outrage the boy’s death had provoked had finally been enough to spur the government into action. He hadn’t known, back then, that the truth was that one of Valentine’s most faithful lieutenants had turned his back on him.

Magnus sighs, pushing the thoughts away for now. “Tell us about the Children of Merlin.”

“I can’t,” Hodge says.

Alec stiffens at Magnus’ side, brows pulling into a frown. “You can’t or you won’t?” he hisses. “Or did you just miss the cause so much you had to get back to it?”

Hodge shakes his head, his eyes widening slightly. “No!” he exclaims. “Of course not!”

“Then tell us,” Alec grits out between clenched teeth.

“I _can’t_ ,” Hodge repeats with extra emphasis, but he sounds almost defeated. “I took an Unbreakable Vow. We all did. I can’t tell you anything about any of them. That’s why there is so little information I can tell Luke. I take advantage of the loopholes whenever there are any, but there is nothing I can tell you that I haven’t already told Luke.”

“What?” Alec breathes out. “Luke?”

“You’re one of them, and you’re not,” Magnus echoes softly, the words finding a new meaning. “You’re some kind of double agent, aren’t you?”

Hodge lifts his gaze to find Magnus’ eyes, nodding. “Their leaders approached me a couple of years ago. Said they knew about the role I used to have in the Circle and that they needed someone with my talents to recruit and train their rookies. I talked about it with Luke, and he told me to say yes, if only to see what they had in mind, so I did. I didn’t expect it to go as far as it did, or for it to be as well organized as it is.”

“And you didn’t think to warn us about the Quidditch game?” Alec inquired. Magnus can almost see the vein of his forehead pulse with anger, and he knows Alec is reliving those dreadful moments just as vividly as Magnus is himself.

If there had been the slightest chance to prevent what happened that day, if they had known...

“I didn’t know,” Hodge says, shaking his head and putting a somber halt to Magnus’ pointless hopes. “I swear, I had no idea. They had told me something massive was coming up, but Maryse was closer to them than I had ever been. The only information I gathered was when I was eavesdropping and it wasn’t much.”

Magnus purses his lips, digging his nails in his knees. “Where did you find your _recruits_?” he asks, the word sending a disgusted shiver down his spine.

Hodge lowers his head, shutting his eyes, and Magnus’ stomach lurches. Bile rises to his throat.

“No,” he breathes out, if only because he hopes with all that he has that he is mistaken, that what he thinks lies behind the guilt in Hodge’s eyes is just a convoluted construction of his own mind. “No,” he adds, louder. “Tell me you didn’t.”

“I warned them,” Hodge says, in a blank, quiet voice. “I always warned them about what they were getting into. I’m not responsible for whether they chose to stay and take part in the Children of Merlin or not.”

“Bullshit,” Magnus snaps, reborn wrath seeping through his veins. It burns and burns its way to his chest, to his mind, until it is all that is left. “You came to them in a place that’s supposed to be safe for them. You were in a position of power and you lured them into a terrorist organisation. Don’t kid yourself thinking you’re not responsible here because you are. You can’t go back now and pretend otherwise because you can’t accept the fact that you have blood on your hands.”

Magnus pauses, sucks in a deep breath. He feels dizzy, and he doesn’t know if it is adrenaline slowly leaving his body now that he doesn’t seem to be in immediate danger, or if it is just anger blurring his vision. Either way, he feels sick.

“Hogwarts is supposed to be a safe place for everyone,” he chokes out, digging his nails in the palms of his fists. “And you used it to make bigots and murderers out of them.”

At his side, Alec shifts on the couch, leaning forward, his face a mask of gravity. “Why didn’t you try to recruit me?” he asks. “I’m a Pureblood. I was your student.”

Hodge brings the hand that isn’t gripping their wands up to his mouth, nipping at the skin of his thumb. “Your mother said she’d deal with her children on her own,” he mutters. “And I owed it to your father. He’s the one that helped me go under the radar so Valentine never suspected that I had betrayed him.”

“Who’s the mole?” Alec asks, in a calculated, plain tone.

“I can’t tell you,” Hodge mumbles, gesturing vaguely to his wrist as if they could see the mark of the oath he swore to the Children of Merlin.

“You can nod your head yes or no,” Magnus grits out. “Is it Camille Belcourt?”

Hodge nods, and although Magnus already knew the answer, it still makes his heart tighten painfully in his chest.

“Is the real Maureen Brown dead?” Alec continues.

“I don’t know,” Hodge sighs. “All I was told was who the mole was and that she would come in once they were in possession of the Marauder’s map. I couldn’t ask too many questions without it being suspicious.”

“Do you know who their leaders are?” Magnus asks. His blood is still boiling in his veins, but he knows he needs to keep a clear head if they are going to get anything useful out of this.

Hodge nods again, but doesn’t reply.

“Can you tell us anything about them?” Alec sighs, voice heavy with frustration.

Hodge shakes his head. “There’s two of them,” he says tentatively, “but that’s all I can say if I don’t want to drop dead right now.”

Magnus ponders to himself that he isn’t sure he would be entirely opposed to that, but heaves out a deep breath instead. That would probably be anticlimactic.

“Do we even know them?” he asks, and can barely refrain from widening his eyes in stupor when Hodge nods again, with more intent this time.

“Man? Woman?” Alec chimes in at once, straightening on his seat with something akin to the passion Magnus has learned to recognize in him. When Hodge doesn’t reply, Alec licks his lips, twisting his fingers. “Both?”

Hodge makes to move, but before he truly can, a cry rips from his lungs. It is an ugly thing, twisted, edged with pain. His left hand jumps to cover his wrist, tears prickling in his eyes. He drops their wands in the mayhem, but neither Alec nor Magnus move to pick them up.

“Fuck,” Alec murmurs under his breath. “Both it is, then. My mother?”

Hodge is panting in front of them, his face contorted in pain still, but he has stopped screaming. It seems more bearable now as he shakes his head once more.

“I can tell you this,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “Your mother is the only reason you aren’t dead. When you two started to grow closer,” he says, pointing between the two of them, and Magnus is suddenly awfully aware that at some point during their conversation, he and Alec shuffled closer to each other on the couch, enough so that their legs and shoulders are now touching, as if pulled together by a magnetic force. “They started talking about getting rid of you,” he continues, his whole attention on Alec now. “They were reluctant, because of your blood. It would be a waste to have you killed, even more so because you’re an Auror and they wanted someone close to Luke to kill him when the time is right.”

“And what?” Alec scoffs. “They thought I’d just do it without blinking because they asked nicely?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but they’re not exactly used to insubordination, and you don’t peg them as the type of guy who goes against orders.”

“Well, I work for Luke Garroway so I’m not used to being given orders that go against anyone’s safety. They can go fuck themselves,” Alec retorts.

Magnus’ lips jump with the beginning of a smile, one that is mirrored on Hodge’s face.

“That was before you disappeared with Magnus and made it quite obvious that you wouldn’t be joining them.”

“What’s their plan for Magnus?” Alec asks, voice equally fierce and concerned.

Hodge throws them a pointed look, a response on its own.

Magnus knows the answer anyway. They made it awfully obvious when they used his face to kill the Whitelaw boy. They want to vilify his kind through him, to turn the public opinion against him. He has to believe there are people out there who believe in his innocence, but they are not the ones who matter here. The ones who matter are the ones who were not vocal about their dislike for him, and the kind he represents for them in the press and who now have the perfect excuse to stop hiding their true colors. Because they are the people who will vote for Sebastian Morgenstern without a second thought now. Because there is no shame in that anymore, not when the face that has represented the Muggle-borns all these years is a fugitive, a murderer of the worst kind. A paria.

Magnus sucks in a shaky breath, ducking his head to make sure his hands have not started shaking again. His eyes fall on the Marauder’s map still firmly tucked in his grip, and his eyes widen.

“Shit,” he murmurs under his breath.

“What?” Alec asks, his whole body straightening at once.

Magnus points a finger at the map, frantic eyes finding Alec’s. “Camille is coming back.”

As if on queue, a loud noise bursts through the room, making them all jump in their seats. Hodge acts quickly, picking up their wands and tossing them in their direction without pausing to think about it.

Alec and Magnus bolt to their feet, wands ready.

“Hey!” a grave voice shouts, layered with annoyance. “Some people are trying to sleep.”

“Oh, piss off,” another voice replies and although it is unmistakably Imogen, Magnus still frowns at the uncharacteristic words.

“What are you doing here?” he hisses, when she manages to kick the poor sleepy sod out of his own portrait, taking his place in an otherwise still life.

“I was wandering in the corridors and I heard Mrs. Brown muttering about Valentine Morgenstern,” she says, panting, and Magnus has to wonder how a portrait of a dead woman can be out of breath. Jumping from painting to be painting must be more exhausting than he realizes. “And now she’s walking this way.”

Magnus gives her a stern nod, glancing back at the map, where Camille’s name is getting awfully closer to theirs. “We have to go.”

Alec walks up to him, peeking over his shoulder. “We have to leave right now or we’ll risk running into her.”

They are on their way out before Hodge can say another word, but Magnus doesn’t think he would have the energy to listen to more he has to say. He casts an Invisibility spell over them both, the map still tucked into his hand. He quickly murmurs the words to turn it back into a blank parchment and slips it in his inside pocket.

The corridors seem somehow colder than they were when they first crossed them, all the more silent now that the curfew has long begun. Everything is dark and quiet around them, but Magnus can almost feel the agitation spreading in the air as realization dawns on him.

They almost died, tonight.

They would have died, had Hodge not been some kind of double agent seeking redemption, if that can still be allowed for people like him, who betray morals and life itself to blindly follow a man of rhetoric, charming in his speeches, deadly in his promises.

They almost died, and though Magnus still feels the burden of the world weighing on his shoulders, he also allows himself to take in the relief pouring through him in waves.

They almost died, but Alec is okay. Alec is alive, his hand firmly tucked in Magnus’ as he guides them back in the vicinity of the Room of Requirement.

Magnus’ own safety has been threatened countless times before. The hazard of death hanging over his head at every step has somehow become a constant, a fact more than a fear. But just as he is aware that his blood will always be a source of disdain to some people, he also knows, somewhere in a corner of his brain, that Alec has become another constant, another world of his own, of something that speaks of comfort, that murmurs of hope and talks in riddles only Magnus’ heart can unveil.

It strikes Magnus more than it should, the knowledge that the adrenaline running through his veins, the horror that swirled in his bones were not meant for himself, but for this constant, this pillar of singular freedom that Alec has nurtured into full growth.

Alec comes to an abrupt stop, his breath hitching in his throat, and he moves in a flash, grabbing Magnus’ hand and tugging him in a dark alcove that opens on Hogwarts’ yard, an invisible finger finding its way to Magnus’ lips to beg for silence.

He hears the footsteps coming closer, snapping him back to reality. Now that he knows the truth that hides behind Maureen’s profaned features, he curses himself for not recognizing earlier the way Camille walks.

Camille walks like she always knows exactly where she’s heading. They were young when they started dating, but even then she walked like she created purpose wherever she went. It wasn’t even in the force of her steps, or in the squareness of her posture. She seems to glide more than she walks, like the ground itself turns smooth under her feet to accommodate to her grace.

No one walks like Camille, because no one oozes of confidence like Camille.

She walks right past them without seemingly seeing them, but they wait until she is out of sight, turning in the corridor that leads to Hodge’s quarters, before they step out of their hiding spot to carry on their way, Alec grabbing his hand again without truly realizing it.

Magnus’ heart thumps in his chest.

They could have died, but Magnus feels alive, and in love.

It might be the most ludicrous time to put such a meaningful word on the way his body and soul have become so alert of every little reaction Alec ignited in him. It might be the worst time, even. But time is an absurd and meaningless concept when their lives are at stake. Time slips away too easily, and death has no regard for how much is left and how much is gone.

So Magnus feels alive, and in love, and it might be, in fact, the perfect time to let himself be submerged by something other than fear or anger, so he lets himself smile, and squeezes Alec’s hand.

.

Imogen is already back in her original portrait when they make it to the Room of Requirement. Flames are curling and swaying in the fireplace, casting long shadows over the walls, crackling over dry wood, and Alec discards his robe to get closer, darting a worried look at the portrait.

“What is it?” he asks. “What happened? Why did you come looking for us?”

The frown is an odd look on Imogen, not because it clashes with her usual expressions, but because Alec sometimes has to remind himself that she is all but a painting, that the real Imogen was murdered four months ago. But the painting is awfully realistic, enough so that sometimes it is almost too easy for him to forget, he who didn’t even know her. He wonders inwardly how it must feel for Magnus, who had found some kind of mentor and definitely a support in her.

Before he can dwell further on it, though, Imogen is talking.

“I was bored here so I decided to go for a walk to see if you were coming back any time soon when I saw Mrs. Brown,” she says, voice grave. “At first I thought she was talking to herself. These are dark times, I wouldn’t blame anyone for losing their minds. But coming from the matron, it is a bit worrying, I’m not going to lie and -”

“She’s not Maureen Brown,” Magnus snaps before Imogen can go on. His eyes are dark, his fingers trembling slightly and Alec reaches out before he can think about it, brushing his knuckles against Magnus’. “It’s Camille,” he adds through clenched teeth.

Imogen scoffs, but the sound isn’t remotely amused. “I knew it smelled like snake,” she sneers.

“You’re a painting,” Magnus deadpans. “You can’t smell.”

Imogen brushes his remark off with a flourish of her fingers. “Anyway, I thought she was talking to herself until I realized she was talking into a small box. I think the Muggles call it a phone.”

Alec can hear Magnus’ breath stutter in his throat. Or perhaps it is his, he isn’t really sure anymore.

“But Muggle devices are not supposed to work in Hogwarts,” Magnus says with a scowl.

“I’m just telling you what I saw, dear,” Imogen replies. “I thought you’d want to know.”

Alec turns to face Magnus, a grin spreading on his lips. “Magnus, that’s great!”

Magnus lifts an eyebrow, throwing him a look that seriously seems to be questioning Alec’s sanity. “They managed to find a way to go around the block against Muggle devices to communicate but that’s great.”

Alec takes a step closer and nods quickly, excitement seeping through his veins. “We’ve been trying to intercept owls for months and nothing concluant ever came out of it. We didn’t know how they communicated but now we do! We never thought about Muggle devices, because we didn’t think the Children of Merlin would ever even consider it. It’s progress!”

The ghost of a smile perks at the corner of Magnus’ mouth, and Alec reaches out to grab his shoulders, squeezing lightly in his eagerness.

“Luke has a friend in the Muggle police,” he continues. “A man called Alaric. He’s a wizard but he works there to make sure the Muggles don’t see anything they shouldn’t. We’ve worked with him before on cases. Maybe if we manage to get the info to Luke, they can find a way to find out who Camille was talking to?”

Magnus’ smile is genuine now. “I suppose it’s worth a shot,” he mutters, but Alec can see a flicker of excitement in his mesmerizing brown eyes. “But how do we get the info to Luke?”

Alec can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth as he gestures with his thumb towards Imogen’s portrait.

Imogen scoffs, arms crossed over her chest. “I am not an owl, Mr. Lightwood,” she gasps in affront, but she doesn’t sound half as annoyed as she probably thought she would.

Magnus glares at her, lips pursed in irritation and she huffs again, waving over her shoulder.

“Fine, fine. But Mrs. Gray is asleep now, I’ll ask her to summon Mr. Garroway in the morning.”

Without another word, she freezes in the painting, shutting her eyes and seemingly slipping into sleep at once.

Magnus rolls his eyes, before turning his attention back to Alec. “So dramatic,” he murmurs. It is evident in his whole posture that the lightness of his tone is mostly there for show, or at least it is evident to Alec, who has learned to notice how Magnus’ broad shoulders tense just a little when he tries to dismiss his own well being in favor of others’.

“What’s wrong?” Alec asks softly, his hands slipping from Magnus’ shoulders to his hands, lacing their fingers together.

Magnus gives him a puzzled look, brows dipping in confusion.

“I think I’m starting to know you enough to figure out when something’s wrong, Magnus,” Alec says, not unkindly. “I’m here for you, you can talk to me.”

Magnus pushes his lips together, reaching out to grab Alec’s waist and pull him closer. He kisses him, soft and quick, humming against his mouth.

“Don’t mind me,” he mutters. “I just need some time to process everything that happened tonight.”

“Is it about Camille?” Alec finds himself asking before he can stop himself.

Magnus stills, rolling back on his heels to blink bemusedly.

“I’m guessing ‘Camille, the mole’ is probably the same ‘Camille’ Imogen mentioned the other day as your awful ex,” Alec says with a shrug he hopes is nonchalant enough to not make the curiosity swirling in his mind too blatantly obvious.

“Is ‘awful’ truly the word she used?” Magnus muses out loud. “That doesn’t seem strong enough to express Imogen’s hatred for her.”

Alec’s lips jump with the beginning of a smile, fingers trailing on Magnus’ biceps. “Can I ask or would you rather not talk about it? Because if so, I can shut up and we can just go to sleep.”

Magnus stays silent for a second, but every inch of Alec’s body is aware of his thumb brushing over Alec’s hipbone absently. Magnus’ eyes are fixed on Alec’s collarbone, but his mind is lost into space and time, somewhere Alec wishes he could follow.

“We started dating in college,” Magnus says, his voice shaking just slightly enough for Alec to tighten his hold on him. “She was studying Mediwizardry. It was one of those on-again, off-again relationships. I was in love and even after what we learned tonight, I still believe some part of her loved me back. Not as strongly, but I tend to be too much for most people. I’m a lot to get used to.”

Alec wants to cut in, to tell him how stupidly perfect he is, and that anyone who ever made him think otherwise doesn’t deserve the sorrow he allows them to shape into his mind. He wants to tell Magnus that only a fool couldn’t love him, that ever since Magnus came into his life, the sun seems to shine brighter for it every morning, despite everything else that is going on around them. He wants to tell him that he loves him, with all his mind, all his soul and all his heart, with the tip of his fingers brushing over Magnus’ clothes and with his eyes skimming over his face like they would in front of a masterpiece.

He wants to tell him, but the words remain stuck into his throat, and before he can think of something to say that would make Magnus understand all of that, he’s speaking again.

“Anyway, we had some happy moments, but this relationship was mostly a mess. Camille liked to… remind me how lucky I was to have found someone like her. Most of the time, she acted like she was doing me a favor by dating me. She dumped me for other men at least thrice and I always took her back because I was stupid enough to forgive her. Until I eventually had enough and I ended things myself, a couple of months after I started working here—” he pauses, heaves out a long sigh, “it was a messy breakup. She wasn’t used to people telling her no, especially not me, and she didn’t take it well. She made sure to tell me someone of my kind would never find someone like her again. I just told her I truly hoped I’d never be with someone like her again. Oddly, it didn’t make things better.”

Alec scoffs out a quiet laugh. “She sounds wonderful.”

Magnus snorts, shaking his head. “She was bad. It was bad. But I still can’t wrap my mind around the idea of her being one of them. She was bad, but she wasn’t evil. Someone must have gotten to her head. I can’t believe she became that… monster all on her own.”

“I’m sorry,” Alec sighs.

“Stop apologizing for other people’s wrongs,” Magnus chastises him, but it is playful, almost teasing. “You have nothing to apologize for. If anything, she should apologize to both of us.”

“Both of us?” Alec echoes, an eyebrow quirked in confusion.

“Well,” Magnus drawls, running his fingers on Alec’s chest, a smirk ghosting on his lips, “she did make you kiss her.”

Alec doesn’t even try to repress a shudder. “Don’t remind me,” he groans, grimacing. “I mean, she had your beautiful face but still, I kissed a woman. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget about it. It might give me nightmares for many years to come.”

Magnus’ shoulders shake with laughter as he crashes against Alec, burying his nose against his neck, and Alec chuckles lightly in return, enveloping him into his arms.

For a moment, they stay here in silence, wrapped in each other’s embrace, and Alec lets his mind lose itself to every sensation, solely focused on Magnus as it always seems to be these days. It isn’t comfort or stability, it is chaos swirling through his whole body and somehow bringing him peace.

It is a strange feeling, spreading through his whole body like wildfire. It holds no bound, or length or depth. It fills holes Alec didn’t know had to be filled, brings him air he didn’t know he was lacking.

It is overwhelming and empowering all at once, and he just can’t get enough of it.

“There’s something else,” Magnus murmurs eventually and Alec pulls away to look at him, frowning.

Magnus sucks in a deep breath, the small smile playing on his lips enough to alleviate some of Alec’s worry.

“I have a close circle of people I care about,” he says. The gravity of his voice sends a shiver down Alec’s spine. “Catarina, Ragnor, Elias, Raphael… I don’t know what I would do if I were to lose them. They are the ones I’m used to being scared for. The ones I worry about more than my own safety. But tonight—” He glances up at Alec, his eyes shining with something that Alec can’t quite decipher but that makes him want to kiss him until nothing else matters. “I really thought we were going to die when Hodge took our wands from us. I really thought _you_ were going to die. And I was terrified.”

Alec’s heart slams against his ribcage, his hands moving on their own accord to cape Magnus’ face. “So was I,” he murmurs. “Magnus, I don’t want to fight if you’re not there to fight with me.”

Time could stop right there, and Alec wouldn’t care. Time doesn’t matter right then, not when the words that failed him earlier finally find their way out.

“Magnus, I love you,” he says, quietly, for him and only him to hear.

Magnus’ eyes brim, and soften, and Alec can read there the words before they are whispered back to him.

“I love you too.”

Alec’s hand drifts to Magnus’ hip to pull him closer, and their lips brush together. They share a breath, inhaling sharply, and Magnus settles his fingers on Alec’s chest as they kiss, soft and delicate, faint like whispers. Warmth spreads through his chest from where Magnus’ hand lays over his skin, his heart fluttering at the touch, shivers wandering all the way up to his neck and down again to his spine.

It takes Alec a moment to realize those reactions are not the aftermath of their bodies melting together alone. It is more than that. It is a physical sensation, like magic gravitating across his skin and curling around his bones, finding its source in Magnus’ touch.

When he pulls back, he takes a moment to simply look at Magnus. His eyes are still closed, a small, blissful smile on his lips, and he breathes through his nose, face relaxed like Alec wishes it could be more often.

Then, he glances down at the hand over his chest, and a gasp slips out of his mouth, uncontrollable and feeble.

“Magnus,” he whispers, and he barely recognizes his own voice, breathless and utterly marveled as it curls around the name.

Magnus blinks his eyes open and looks down to what has Alec so mesmerized. His breath stutters against Alec’s mouth.

 _They can try and try again,_ Alec thinks, _but they can not break him._

Magnus’ fingers are glimmering with blue sparks, the light whirling between them in a graceful dance, tuning itself with the crackling of the fire burning in Alec’s back.

Magnus’ brows dip in concentration, and a second later, the lights flicker around them. Alec watches as a happy grin spreads on Magnus’ mouth, his eyes slowly prickling with tears at the magic surrounding them.

“It’s back,” he chokes out, voice trembling with emotion.

Alec smiles, his thumb gently tracing the sharp line of Magnus’ jaw.

“I love you,” he says again, because he can, because it would spite the people who are trying to ruin the beautiful, incomparable man in his arms.

The lights flicker again, brighter this time, and Magnus turns back to him with a joyful and relieved grin.

“I love you too.”

They found love in the darkest times, peace in a middle of war, Alec ponders to himself as their bodies melt together again.

They can try and try again, but they can not break them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go.
> 
> Huge, huuuuge thank you to Ketz, Jackie and Ace for helping me get through this block. I love you ladies with all my heart.
> 
> I'm on tumblr [@lecrit](http://lecrit.tumblr.com/) and on twitter [@_L_ecrit](https://twitter.com/_L_ecrit).
> 
> See you hopefully not in six months.
> 
> All the love,  
> Lu. ❤


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